


The Scoundrel (Part 2)

by gubernaculum



Series: The Namesakes [16]
Category: Highlander: The Series, Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-22 16:04:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 104,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4841750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gubernaculum/pseuds/gubernaculum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time travel, you can’t keep it straight in your head. Captain John Hart returns but which one is it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing. I'm only borrowing everything purely for non-profit and completely recreational purposes. The characters of Miranda Ryan, Joseph Fischer, Henry Fitzroy and Cassie are my own. I have cast them as Zhang Ziyi, Jesse Spencer, Alex Pettyfer and Tilda Swinton respectively. This fic is unbeta'd and therefore probably full of grammatical and typographical errors. Writing is purely a hobby for me. I am an American and have attempted to do my own Britpicking so I apologize for any errors there as well. This is also AU for Torchwood as I like to pretend CoE and Miracle Day never happened. As always, I am borrowing Highlander concepts and names so it won't line up well with that show's canon.

“I said medium. Does this look medium to you?”

The waitress quickly apologised, “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll take that back to the kitchen for you.”

“You do that, sweetheart… what was your name again?”

“Ella,” she replied. It was the fourth time she’d told him. She leaned over and picked the plate up, flashing him the usual fake smile.

With the warm plate in her hand, she weaved through the tables. She slid it back to the kitchen staff. “Gent at table eight wants it medium.”

The cook rolled his eyes at her and peeked at the steak’s interior.

“It is medium,” he said but went about correcting the order anyway.

She returned the steak to the surly customer, who probably thought she’d spit in it and continued on.

While she didn’t find her job particularly stressful - at least not compared to the last one - she didn’t enjoy some of the more grating and difficult customers. It had been a typical bustling Saturday night but since the restaurant wasn’t in a touristy section of the city and wasn’t particularly popular, it wasn’t overly crowded. The restaurant was starting to look empty and her section was clear. Her workday was coming to an end. After such a busy shift, she was looking forward to going home, eating some take away and parking on her couch for some mindless late night television. She’d just reached behind her to untie her apron when one of her coworkers tapped her on the arm. She turned.

“Ella, they just seated someone at one of your tables,” he said, with an apology on his face.

“What?” she said, annoyed. The kitchen closed in ten minutes but with a fresh order she’d be stuck here another hour, if not longer. She craned her neck from the back hallway. It was a single man in a suit with salt pepper hair. She let out a small huff and said, “Oh, you gotta be shitting me. Some sad single jerk with nothing else to do on a Saturday night.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, untying his own apron. “They were going to seat him in my section but I have to get out of here.”

“Thanks for throwing me under the bus,” she said with mock annoyance.

“I forgot my anniversary. I’m in the dog house,” he said. “Please? I’ll owe you one.”

“I’m just teasing. Go on,” she replied with a warm smile.

“Thanks,” he said, hastily. He threw his apron over his arm and headed for the back as quickly as he could. He called over his shoulder, “I mean it! I owe you one!”

She went to see to her new customer. She put on a smile and walked up to the table. She said, “Sir, I’m very sorry to rush you, but the kitchen is closing shortly. You’ll have to order in the next few minutes.”

The dark haired man had a slight scowl on his face, an expression of deep disapproval. His accent was straight out of south Boston.

“I’ll have a bacon burger, rare. Everything on the side.”

As she wrote the order down, she asked, “Something to drink?”

“Whatever lager you have on tap,” he said. He handed her the menu with more force than necessary.

She nodded and smiled, politely. He was her worst customer of the day. The entire meal was# a passive aggressive dance. The burger was undercooked even though he’d ordered it rare. When she put down the ketchup, he said she’d forgotten the side of mayonnaise he’d never asked for. He didn’t like the lager and wanted a different one even though he’d drank most of it.

When she’d collected the bill, she saw he hadn’t left her a tip. He’d also left behind his copy of the receipt. There was writing on the back of it.

Columbus Circle, one hour.

It was going to take her longer than an hour to get out of work and walk uptown. It would take her past her apartment in Hell’s Kitchen but it didn’t matter. As soon as was possible, she left work and made her way to Columbus Circle.

Her surly customer was standing in the middle of the circle. Columbus’s statue was bathed in yellow light and he was pretending to admire it as he waited.

“Hi Miranda,” he said, turning around.

“Ethan. How’d you find me?”

“Wasn’t hard,” he said, with contempt and anger. He didn’t bother hiding either emotion from his voice. He put his hands into his coat pockets and walked towards her. “I’m surprised Torchwood didn’t find you. Wasn’t like they weren’t trying. And stop fucking talking like that.”

Miranda didn’t bother dropping the American accent. She suspected the New York inflection she was using was offending his Boston roots. “We don’t have jurisdiction here.”

“We? Oh, it’s ‘we’ now,” he said, nastily. “Because last I looked you’d checked out of Cardiff.”

“Ethan…” she warned.

“Don’t.” He shook his head in disappointment. “I just came here to make sure I wasn’t imagining things. That the woman I knew - the woman who saved lives, who gave a shit, who tossed me against a car and told me to learn prudence - was slinging overpriced burgers in fucking Chelsea.”

“Do not presume to lecture me,” she replied, darkly. The accent and cadence of her voice taking on the archaic nature it always did when she was angry.

“Don’t do the scary bitch routine on me, Miranda. It won’t work anymore,” he said, waving his hand at her. He wiped at his mouth and rubbed his chin. “You know, I once wondered what kind of mother you were, and now I know. You’re the ‘do as I say and not as I do’ kind.”

She opened her mouth to respond and he cut her off. “Don’t. I don’t want to fucking hear it. You know, I started talking to my kids again. I’m civil to what’s-his-name. I go to holiday dinners and I take my grandson to the zoo. I eat cotton candy and…” He broke off, shaking his head. “What happened to you?”

His venom surprised her and caught her off guard. She never expected anyone to find her, let alone Ethan Donovan. She’d covered her tracks carefully.

“How did you find me?” she asked, again.

“Because the holes in your disappearing act are more fucking important to you? Fine, you wanna know?” he barked. He stepped towards her. “I didn’t have to find you. All I had to do was find Kiernan. Ianto told me he’d traced him to the States. The Watcher’s had done some pretty fancy footwork hiding him but I still got friends in the NSA, Homeland Security and the INS. I tracked him to New York. Finding you was a little harder. Since this was a personal project, I couldn’t put any of my agents on it, but believe you me, I thought about it. You think a part time waitress can afford more than a cardboard box she shares with five other people in this city? Ella Yi stood out like a sore fucking thumb.” He took a deep breath and then counted backwards from ten. “Why’d you do it, Miranda? There’s taking a vacation and then there’s disappearing off the face of the earth and leaving good people who care about you to wonder where the fuck you are and if you’re alive or dead. Do you even want to know what’s been going on in Cardiff? Do you even care?”

“Of course, I care, Ethan!” she snapped back. She took a deep breath, rolled her shoulders and slowly let it out. “Sometimes things just get too hard.”

“Oh, don’t give me that load of crap! I’ve had it up to here with your sanctimonious bullshit about how being immortal gives you some sort of monopoly on pain and loss,” he said, rolling his eyes at her. “You don’t get to pull that card ‘oh poor me’ card every time just because you’ve been around the block more than once.”

In typical New York fashion, no one was paying the two of them any mind as they shouted back and forth at each other but he lowered his voice and stepped closer to her. “You got thousands of years on me. I shouldn’t have to be the one to tell you that that’s life. It ain’t fair, and it ain’t easy. Burying your head in the fucking sand, ain’t the way to do it neither. You need to put on your big girl panties and deal with it.”

“This is just a simple holiday-”

“Stop lying!” he shouted. He lowered his voice and spat, “A holiday is when you go work on your tan or take bad selfies in front of national monuments! It’s not where you mothball your entire identity and make a new one! You renew your passport for a holiday not spend fifty grand so a cobbler can forge you a new one. Were you ever going to go back?”

“Our concept of time is different.”

“Fucking excuses,” he said, shaking his head. “Do you know Gwen lost the baby?”

“What?” she gasped.

“A week after you left. Ectopic pregnancy and a ruptured fallopian tube,” he said and then took another step towards her. “Oh wait, that’s right. You left your mobile on your kitchen counter so you don’t know that.”

Miranda felt the world slide away. Her stomach bottomed out and her hands felt cold as the implication of what Donovan had just told her began to race through her mind. Before she could fully realise what a heartless cunt she’d been, Donovan continued railing on her.

“You know how beautiful Joe and Henry’s wedding was? Oh wait, that’s right. You weren’t there!”

She went to answer him but he cut her off again.

“Some time dilation device got Joe. He was standing in the middle of the Hub like a statue for a week. Some dynamic headhunting duo nearly chopped Ianto’s head off. Do you want me to keep going?”

Miranda turned and started to walk away. He ran to catch her, grabbing her arm and yanking her around. “Hey! Hey! Don’t you fucking walk away from me!”

She turned his grip on him, twisting his arm back and digging her thumb into the pressure point on his wrist. He let out a painful yelp. She said, coldly, “Do not touch me.”

Her tone sent a shiver down his neck. She let him go. While their shouting hadn’t drawn attention, the physical scuffle had. They’d earned a few stares.

“Walk with me, Ethan,” she said, turning south down eighth avenue.

They’d walked a few blocks when Miranda said, “I am sorry my silence has distressed the team but at this moment, right now, this is what I need to maintain my own sanity. Do not think that my absence or my silence means I do not care about what has been going at home. Just because you don’t understand my motives doesn’t give you the right to judge me on them.”

“Then explain it to me, Miranda,” he said, trying to keep his anger in check.

She continued walking, not looking at him and said, coldly, “I do not believe I owe you an explanation for anything. Go home, Ethan.”

He hadn’t seen her in a long time but he knew her well enough to hear hurt in her voice. He jogged after her, lightly brushing her arm to get her attention. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I spent the whole flight up here getting angry as hell at you. I’m sorry for before. I’m sorry for ambushing you at work. I’m sorry for just showing up like this. And, yeah, you’re right. You don’t own me jack shit - no reasons, no explanations, not even a fucking greeting card but you owe your family something. Ianto asked me to find you. What am I supposed to tell him?”

“Tell him whatever you like,” she said, continuing down the avenue.

He shouted after her, “That accent doesn’t suit you!”

She ignored him and continued walking away. Donovan watched and then turned, frustrated. He thought about going after her but he’d done what he’d come here to do. Now he just needed to decide what to tell Ianto. What would they do if they knew where she was? At the very least, Ianto would phone and tell Miranda everything that Donovan had just told her. He doubted the Welshman would show up here and confront his former teacher. This was more about Ianto wanting to know Miranda was safe and letting her know what had happened in Cardiff than dragging her back there. Donovan sighed and looked at his watch. He dug in his pocket for his mobile and dialed.

“Yeah, sorry about the hour, Ianto. I hope I didn’t wake you or Jack,” he apologised. He started to walk towards Penn Station. He was about to tell him that he’d found Miranda, safe and sound, but when he opened his mouth, something completely different came out. “No, man, I didn’t find anything… No, that intel on Kiernan was a dead end… No… I’m sorry…” His gut twisted. The lies were bitter in the back of his throat but he’d made his bed and now he had to lie in it. “I can keep looking if you want me to… No? Are you sure?…”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Miranda was far enough down the street that she didn’t hear Donovan’s conversation with Ianto. Whatever Donovan did now wasn’t her concern. It didn’t matter to her either way. Donovan would tell Ianto that he’d found her or he wouldn’t. What was Ianto going to do? Show up in New York and drag her back to Wales? She tried to put it out of her mind as she walked back to her apartment, her mind clouded with thoughts as it so often was. But that was the whole point of this constitutional of hers.

She had never believed a human being was meant to live as long as she had. Like a marathon, immortality required stamina and Miranda feared hers was running out. As an immortal of the Game, she’d lived over four thousand years, keeping her head attached to her neck through a combination of skill and luck. She continued on because, honestly, she had no idea what else to do. And the hard truth of it was that, even though her stamina was wearing thin, she was too proud, stubborn and equally too cowardly to take the easy way out.

There were lots of things people did to renew the spirit and rejuvenate themselves. Sometimes the most common sayings are true and absence did make the heart grow fonder. But when someone was weary of life, how did someone escape from it? Life was all around her. Usually, Miranda would retreat into solitude - to the countryside or the wilderness to live minimally and alone. It was a method that was becoming less and less effective. It’s also said that insanity is repeating the same actions over and over again, expecting different results. So, instead of hiking into the woods with a few tools and some supplies, Miranda had decided on the exact opposite. She’d gone to the crowded and noisy city of New York.

She’d felt badly about choosing a city outside of Europe and leaving Torchwood on such short notice but she’d put this off for long enough. A string of personal losses had taken its toll. Cameron MacDonald’s death had sapped her strength and the sudden disappearance of Captain John Hart had decimated it entirely. Torchwood itself was an uphill battle at the best of times and was something she could only handle for a few years. Her most recent service had been her longest and she’d not only been a field operative but the team physician and Jack’s second in command. It had been significantly more than she was used to. A step backwards was overdue.

Most would consider going from physician to waitress to be a big step down, but to Miranda it was a breath of fresh air. No one’s well being or life was in her hands and Torchwood was far away. She didn’t need to sort out a carnivorous plant or throw herself in front of one of her teammates. Now, all she needed to do was serve people food and drink in a polite and friendly manner.

Her mundane job wasn’t the only thing that helped her decompress. In the past, it had been the solitude and stillness of the countryside that had helped her reflect but there was something to be said for vanishing into a sea of people. New York was a deep, vast ocean. The mass of people provided Miranda with an anonymity and a facelessness that made her feel as isolated and alone as any remote wilderness could.

Even in this big and busy city, she was still managing to live a simple life. Usually, these constitutionals could last for decades, but she’d been gone just over a year and was already starting to feel better. When she went into the wilderness, she took very little with her. She usually spent a fair amount of time accumulating what she needed for survival - locating food, water and shelter or building up supplies for winter. There was no need for that now and she hadn’t realised what a distraction it’d been before especially since she’d become accustomed to modern conveniences… like take away.

Even though it was extremely late, there were still open restaurants. She’d been very lazy since she’d come to New York and she never cooked unless she couldn’t avoid it and living in the city that never sleeps, it was easily avoided. It was just her and she always bought enough food to keep herself fed for a few days. She was an immortal of the Game and didn’t need to concern herself with eating too healthful. There was no hardening of the arteries to worry about. She’d put on a few pounds but it was weight she needed to gain. With the bag in hand, she continued on to her apartment.

She unlocked the building’s front door and stepped inside. She retrieved her post, dumping it into the take away bag. When she stepped into the lift, she took a deep breath, rolling her shoulders as she exhaled. Leaning against the back wall, she absorbed what Donovan had told her. Gwen had had another miscarriage and she hadn’t been there for her. She’d missed Henry and Fish’s wedding… She felt guilt about it all but there was nothing to be done. She’d known what walking away would mean. Donovan was right, she could’ve gone about it better. When she’d decided to leave, she hadn’t decided how long she would be away. It was why she’d so thoroughly created Ella Yi’s identity.

She put most of the food away into the fridge. After kicking off her shoes, she chose a container at random. She opened a can of soda and dropped onto her sofa. Infomercials? Reruns? she thought absently as she flipped through the channels.

These were the monumental decisions that faced her these days. She did her best to keep her life here as simple as possible. Her waitressing salary was small but she was living mostly off of savings. Her job was only part time and meant to keep some structure to her life so she didn’t have too much free time. The apartment was a small one bedroom. She didn’t need much space. This mundane lifestyle might seem boring and pointless to some but to her it was a refreshing holiday.

She leaned forward, picking up her mobile telephone. She felt like she should at least ring Gwen, to check and see how she was but that would be opening up a spectacular can of worms. She could almost hear the former PC’s voice now questioning and interrogating her. She dropped the phone back onto the coffee table. After stabbing her fork into her food, she pushed the container away. She’d lost her appetite.

It had been just over a year and a half since they’d loaded Cameron MacDonald into a drawer. The sting of the young’s brief life highlighted the length of her own. In the larger scheme of a four thousand year old life, this eighteen month holiday wasn’t all that long. To the others? It probably felt like ten times that. They missed her. Donovan’s appearance was proof positive of that. She missed them too. The thought of returning to Torchwood had been floating in and out of her mind over the past few months but a knot had formed in her chest every time it did. A mischievous laugh and the scent of sandalwood, leather and cinnamon floated into her mind as the knot appeared. She could almost smell it now, faint on the air. Her heart seized in her chest. Her eyes began to sting and suddenly the room was so much smaller than it had been a minute ago.

That was why she stayed in New York. The idea of returning to the Hub, of being assaulted with so many painful memories was still too much for her. If she was being honest with herself, it was more the loss of John Hart that was keeping her away than any world weariness. She needed to mourn and to grieve. She closed her eyes, remembering a last lunch she’d shared with Henry before she’d left.

_“You're certain he will not return?” he’d asked, in a careful voice._

_“No… He would've already if he'd been able.” She stared out the window over the bay. Quietly, painfully, she’d said, “He's dead.”_

_“Captain Hart is a man of great cunning and resource. Such men are not to be underestimated… as I know from personal experience.”_

She closed her eyes, pushing the conversation from her mind. Accepting he would never return was the only way for her to move on. If she held onto the hope that Hart would return, there would be no healing. Hope would hold the hole in her heart open. That emptiness would only grow larger, filling itself with anger and hatred until it drove her mad. And she’d walked down that road already. No, her only option had been to cement Hart’s disappearance in her mind as his death - like ripping off a plaster in one hard yank. She reached up, massaging at her neck. She let out a deep, grief-stricken sigh. She pushed Hart out of her mind. It was one thing for her to reminisce and think of their short time together fondly. This wallowing in grief and sadness was another, wholly unhealthy thing. She dug her fingers hard into her neck…

…and suddenly felt warm hands on hers.

“You look tense, Dollface,” a voice said, sweetly.

Miranda let out a startled cry. She was so surprised there was someone else in the apartment, she hadn’t recognised the endearment nor the voice that had said it. Reacting on instinct, she grabbed the hands on her neck and twisted. She turned, lightning fast, reaching with her other hand for the arm it was attached to. She pulled with all her strength at the man standing behind her, pinning him to the sofa.

“Jon…” It didn’t even qualify as a whisper. The shock had driven the breath from her body and his name had hitchhiked on the exhaled air.

“Oi! Easy!” he shouted in reply. “You know, I like it rough, Dollface, but…! OW! Mei! STOP!”

She was so shocked she obeyed. She reeled back so fast that her knees hit the small arm chair and she ended up sitting right back down again. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing! An clammy sweat broke out over her as her hands turned frigid. She’d nearly responded to Hart’s unannounced presence as an attack. She could have killed him!

“Jon.” She’d said the name deliberately this time but it was whispered like saying someone’s name as they were dying.

“I thought you’d be happy to see me. I wanted it to be a surprise but not like this,” he said, smiling broadly. Slowly, Hart took in her expression. “Hey, hey, now. What’s wrong?”

What’s wrong?! Her jaw dropped and she couldn’t manage to form words. She took in a few short breaths, trying to digest the situation. Had she gone mad? Was this real? Had some freakish alien device popped her into an alternate reality? Tears welled up in Miranda’s eyes and she decided she didn’t care about the answers to any of those questions.

Hart stood up and held out his hand to her. “Mei? You’re scaring me, love.”

She didn’t know whether to weep with joy or gratitude, or to throttle him for sneaking up on her and nearly getting himself killed. Relief and joy won out. She launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck. She buried her face in his skin, breathing in the sandalwood, leather and cinnamon she hadn’t smelled in over a year. She let out a dry sob, clinging to him harder, running her hand up into his hair. She clenched her fist tightly in the curls. He felt so real and she didn’t care if he wasn’t. If this was a descent into madness, she’d take gladly take the leap.

“Hey! Ow!” he said with a small laugh. He hugged her back, lifting her off the ground. He swung her around, laughing louder. “Long day at the office?”

“You could say that,” she managed to reply. She didn’t want to let go but he pulled back, prying her arms from him. He sat on the sofa, trying to turn her so she could leaning her back against him but she wouldn’t let him. There was no way she was letting him out of her sight for even an instant. She blinked back the tears threatening to spill over. She didn’t want to mar the vision in front of her with them. After linking their fingers, she felt something hard. She looked down at Hart’s left hand in hers. There was a band of rich yellow gold around his ring finger. Confused, she shifted the ring. The skin underneath it was paler than the rest of the finger. It had been there a long time. Then she started examining his face. The lines in his forehead and around his eyes were deeper. There was a more noticeable amount of grey flecked through his hair that he appeared to be trying to hide with sparse platinum blonde highlights. She reached out, tracing the laugh lines around his eyes. This wasn’t the John Hart that had left her sleeping in his bed last year. This was some future version of him. Her eyes began to dart around his face, looking for some sign of his age or some other sign to mark when he’d come from.

Her scrutiny wasn’t unnoticed. His face fell as he realised his error. He had not arrived to the time he’d intended to. Like the first time he’d encountered Miranda out of sequence, he leapt to the same conclusion - that he’d encountered his own death. “When?”

“Last year,” she said, the tears returning. “I woke up… and you were gone.”

Hart seriously doubted that he’d died in his sleep. His first reaction was relief, but his second one was surprise, and then fear the moment he realised exactly when he was. He looked around as if some unseen force was about to attack. “This is that year?!”

He stood up and reached for his wrist strap but Miranda stopped him. She leapt to her feet and grabbed at his arm. Panicked, she blurted, “NO!”

“I can’t stay,” he said, almost panicked.

“No, Jon!” she cried.

He looked around the small apartment, as if searching for a means to escape.

“I miss you. So much,” she choked. The grief seeped over her face. Her eyes closed and he heard something he hadn’t heard in a long time. She begged, “Stay… Please…”

The only time he’d ever heard Miranda beg was in their bedroom and always in asexual way. It cracked his heart. Reaching up, he cupped her face. “I know you do. You don’t know how much I missed you. The fucking Twins, I didn’t even know until it was too late.” He shook his head. “Leaving you that night was the stupidest thing I’d ever done…” He pulled her in close, hugging her tightly. He let out a resigned sigh. He admitted, “I’m coming back to you, love. I promise.”

He kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for what I did. I was a coward and a fool. I love you.” He let out another sigh. “You know, I never told anyone that before until that night.” He reached up, smoothing her hair. There was so much he wanted to tell her but he knew he couldn’t. Every piece he revealed risked the whole and he wouldn’t risk his time with her for anything. Just then, he remembered something that had always confused him… until now. He pried himself away from her. He held up a hand to calm the fear on her face. “I’m just checking the date.”

He opened his wrist strap and began tapping. He let out a wry laugh the moment he saw when he’d landed. It was a full century, to the day, before he’d meant to. Misplaced that decimal point, again… The kiss that followed was a special kiss that he reserved for unique circumstances. As always, it left her gelatinous in his arms.  

He gave her a knowing smile and ran his fingertip along her brow. “He ran that finger down her cheek, feeling tears. “No questions and I’ll stay tonight. I can’t stay longer or I could risk… everything. No questions.”

She nodded, willing to take whatever she could get. Hart leaned forward. He whispered a date and time in her ear before capturing her earlobe in his mouth and dragging her towards the bedroom.


	3. Chapter 3

Ianto rubbed at his neck. He'd had no idea being Torchwood medic would be so much work. Sure Owen had whinged endlessly about work but Ianto'd always thought that was just Owen being... Owen. At first, he’d thought he’d only be seeing to the health of the team so he’d obtained training for that end. Unfortunately, the job of medic encompassed so much more. Every single resident alien and riftugee was now his patient. Ianto was learning very quickly that his combat medic training was woefully incomplete for dealing with them. It was inadequate for the team as well, but there nothing to be done about that. As if his time wasn’t stretched enough, he’d begun auditing courses at Cardiff University in biology, chemistry, biochemistry, and zoology all so that he could understand the physiology textbooks piled next to Miranda’s desk. _My desk…_

It wasn’t just his patients. He’d been shocked to discover exactly how many projects Miranda had been working on. He’d been incapable of taking on most of them. He simply didn’t have enough knowledge to continue them without completely cocking them up, so he’d left them be. They'd been on hold for a long while already. Letting them sit there wasn't doing any harm. Other projects he had no choice but to continue. Torchwood manufactured many of its own medications, and he needed to maintain that inventory.

Last year, when he’d taken over the job, Ianto had expected to be able to continue with his old duties and he’d been able to… at first. But as he’d discovered more and more responsibilities, it had been impossible. There simply weren’t enough hours in the day. He’d created rotas for the basic Hub cleaning and pet care but that had only helped so much. Torchwood needed a new butler, or at least, a temporary replacement. It hadn’t taken long to find a willing volunteer. Ianto looked up when a steaming mug of coffee was placed next to him.

“Thanks, Henry,” he said with a bright smile.

“Of course, lad,” Henry replied. He cleared his throat. “I believe that Jack is-”

“IANTO!!”

“-irate this morning,” he finished after wincing. He let out a sigh. “Why he must use his voice at such volumes is beyond me.”

“I gave up on that long ago,” Ianto said, chuckling. “The quarterly phone call with UNIT didn’t go well.”

He pushed himself away from his desk and stood up. Ianto had also attempted to maintain many of his administrative duties but it had just been too much. Until he’d settled into the role of medic, Jack had had to, however reluctantly, take back many of the roles that he’d delegated to Miranda and Ianto. Even though Gwen had shed many of her administrative duties, she had also had to take on some more of those responsibilities again, much to her own annoyance.

“IANTO!!”

Jack continued to bellow his name across the room and by the time Ianto got to Jack’s office, he was extremely annoyed. He stepped into the room, shutting the door with a little more force than was strictly necessary. "It does take me more than ten seconds to walk here from the autopsy bay. There's no need for to keep shouting.”

“Sorry, sorry…" Jack said with a sigh. He scrubbed at his face again. He could feel the frown on his husband’s face. “I could really use some coffee… Please?”

“What’s that there, then?” Ianto asked, waving at the blue and white stripped mug.

“Henry’s isn’t the same,” he whinged.

Ianto gave him a spectacular eye roll. There had been some doubts as to whether or not the Duke would take to Ianto’s old job but Henry was good at it. There’d been a change in coffee quality that had taken a little getting used to. Even though he’d tried to teach Henry all he could, the team had complained behind the Duke’s back for months. Henry’s coffee making skills had come a very long way. His first attempts were drinkable but not palatable. After six months as temporary Torchwood butler, he’d had plenty of practice and Ianto felt his brew was quite good. Jack was the only team member to complain about Henry’s coffee with any regularity.

“One cup of industrial strength, coming up,” Ianto said with a sigh. He was the only person Ianto would make coffee for and the only reason he did it was because he knew Jack would be making it up to him later in bed.

“Thanks, Yan,” Jack said, relieved.

Ianto rolled his eyes inwardly.

The comm unit in Jack’s ear sprang to life and Fish’s voice said, “Jack? I’ve got something you should see.”

"Be right there," he replied. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers as he got up.

Fish was tapping away at his keyboard. Their technician normally had a cheery disposition at work, but since his husband had started working with them on a daily basis, he'd been practically glowing. When Jack's hand settled on his shoulder, he turned and smiled. He reached up, swiping his finger along the touch screen, cycling his display to the previous screen.

"What's going on, Fish?" he asked, leaning into the display. "A spike?"

"It's not a spike. It's a relayed message through MiB," he said, pointing at the screen. “It’s another near earth object."

Jack rolled his eyes. They got something like this at least once a month.

"Ethan really needs to have a talk with NASA," he said with a sigh. "When will those people learn that we do not need to know about everything passing within a hundred million kilometres of the planet. It's not like we can do anything about it anyway!”

“Their protocol says they’re supposed to notify us. It’s a protocol we wrote,” Fish pointed out. “If it helps, I think they might have something this time.”

“What do you mean, Fish? Is something going to hit us?" Gwen asked, a bit nervous. She turned away from her own workstation.

“Hubble was taking pictures and found it lurking by Jupiter,” he said. He clicked a few times and brought up the images. "It's headed straight for us."

"That's bad right?" Gwen asked.

"No, it's too small," Fish said, glancing over NASA's calculations. "It should burn up in the atmosphere. But, at least this one’s headed for us and not going to miss us by tens of thousands of miles.” He reached behind him and took his own coffee mug from his husband. “Thanks, Henry.”

“But it’s not… going to hit us, hit us? Is it?” Gwen said.

“Oh it’s going to hit us, all right, but it’s going to either completely burn up or it’s going to end up being the size of a baseball before it hits the ground,” Fish said, shrugging.

"How big is it, Joe?” Henry asked.

"It's small. I'm surprised Hubble saw it. Right fucking place. Right fucking time.”

Jack turned to Fish and asked, "Do they have an approximate point of impact?"

"Wait, let me guess.” Ianto paused dramatically. "Wales."

Fish laughed. "Sorry to disappoint you, mate. We’re not that unlucky. They’re estimating an Atlantic Ocean impact.”

"Nice and specific those Yanks are," Gwen joked.

The whole team chuckled.

“It’s the best estimate they can give at this distance,” Fish said, smiling. “The anything in the asteroid belt or even the moon’s gravity might change its trajectory.”

“Not the Martian gravity?” Henry asked.

Fish shook his head. “Mars is too far away right now.”

“Let MiB know - message received,” Jack said. “Since it’s actually headed for us, tell them to keep us in the loop.”

Just as Jack turned away, the sound of gears and metal echoed through the Hub. Startled, everyone gazed upwards. The invisible lift was descending. They weren’t expecting anyone. All of the team was present and accounted for. Everyone scrambled to arm themselves.

Suddenly, Ianto and Henry both froze. They looked at each other. In silent communication, they holstered their guns, and instead, picked up their swords. Ianto waved the rest of the team back and they obeyed. He looked at his friend, asking another silent question. Henry shrugged and then took up a flanking position. Ianto wasn’t surprised his friend bowed the possible challenge off to him. Henry avoided fighting unless absolutely necessary. The two immortals raised their swords defensively as the lift stopped.

Standing on the paving stone, wearing a full length leather coat was Miranda Ryan. She looked very different than when she’d left. Her face was rounder and her body thicker. She looked like she’d put on at least a stone, if not more, of fat and muscle. It was a healthy gain of weight that she’d sorely needed. She’d lost the skeletal appearance and now looked far more healthy. The black satin hair that had once hung around her shoulders was cropped short except for a small amount of fringe. The affect was startling. She looked shockingly young and modern, like a university student.

Fish was the first to move. He ran forward and threw his arms around his friend. “Evie!”

The force of the embrace unbalanced her for a second but she smiled wide and slapped her arms around him.

“Fish. It’s good to see you, my friend.”

Ianto tapped Fish on the shoulder with the flat of his sword. When Fish turned, he waved him aside with it. The Australian moved away, looking confused.

Before Miranda could open her mouth, Ianto pointed his sword right at her face and said, “What are you doing here, Mandy?”

“I was hoping I could come home, Ifan,” she said, quietly. After the thorough bollocking she’d gotten from Ethan Donovan, she’d expected to be in the shit. Fish’s joyful welcome had surprised her. The second surprise was that she saw Henry standing behind Ianto, also with his sword raised.

Ianto didn’t lower his sword. He’d thought she’d at least phone before she came back. He never thought she’d just show up like this. Disappointment rose up in him. They’d spent months wishing she’d return and adjusting to her absence. They’d all mourned. They’d accepted that she was likely never coming back. They’d just started getting back to normal. _Waltzing out and waltzing back in…_ He cast an involuntary glance at Jack. _Birds of a feather…_ His husband was, wisely, not taking either side in the matter. His own track record was against him.

Bravely, Henry cleared his throat. Ianto looked over his shoulder. Henry's sword was no longer raised. The blade was along his relaxed forearm, the point upwards. He said, delicately, “Perhaps this is a matter for further discussion… in private.”

Ianto just nodded, lowering his own sword. He walked towards the boardroom and the rest of the team followed.

Left standing alone, Miranda shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She felt like an outsider. Unable to stand the awkwardness, she decided to see to her rooms. She could at least pull the sheets off the furniture and get an idea of how much cleaning she’d have to do. It was premature, the team might not let her come back, but she had nothing else to occupy her.

As she walked towards the north stairs, she glanced around, trying to settle into the idea of being home. The Hub didn’t look much different to her aside from a few shifts in furniture. Some old pieces had been replaced and some things had found new homes. The north sub-basement looked exactly the same. She opened the door to the storage rooms turned flat and stood in the doorway gaping like a goldfish.

All of her furniture was gone. The room was completely different. The antiques from the forties and thirties had been replaced by modern pieces with a distinctly masculine feel. The kitchen was updated. The appliances were new. The carpeting had vanished, replaced with a warm wood floor and area rug. She didn’t need anyone to tell her who had taken over the flat. The entire room screamed with the clean style of Ianto Jones.

She should leave the room since it was obviously no longer hers but her curiosity got the better of her. She turned to her right towards the bedroom door. It was cracked open so she pushed it aside. The door disturbed the air and the scent of Ianto’s aftershave and Jack filled her nose. Her wooden dressers were gone but some of the pictures that she’d displayed on top of them were still there. Her and Jack’s wedding picture was among them. Some of the pictures were new. There was a large framed picture from Jack and Ianto’s wedding that was different than the one she’d displayed. Next to it was also a framed wedding photo of Fish and Henry. That one she lovingly picked up and studied.

The two men were in matching tuxedoes. The picture was a candid one. They hadn’t been posed but caught in the moment. The two were staring downwards at a piece of shared cake they were feeding each other. Fish was smiling softly while Henry’s smile was broad and joyous. There was a bit of frosting on Henry’s lip that Fish was in the middle of wiping away. The love radiated from the behind the glass. Her eyes stung with tears at the happiness in front of her. She studied the background hoping to catch some glimpse of the rest of the team and Tom but it was out of focus. She bitterly regretted missing the day.

“We got them arrested for indecency,” Jack said from behind her with a mischievous laugh. “Cardiff’s finest didn’t think tying them to a lamppost was as funny as the rest of us did. It might have had something to do with the fact that they were nude at the time.”

She let out a sad laugh and put down the frame. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come in here.”

He sat down on the upholstered bench at the end of the bed. It was a different bench from the original. This one was covered in soft suede. He patted the spot next to him. “I took your advice.”

The very first day she’d moved back into the Hub, she’d suggested Ianto and Jack move into this space. She sat down next to him. “I take it you let Ifan do most of the decorating?”

“He’s got more of an eye for this sort of thing than I do,” Jack said, smiling. He reached out and took her hand in his. “They agreed... but with some conditions.”

She looked upwards and let out a sad sigh. “I don’t blame them. I behaved poorly.”

“They’re not as cross as they’re letting you think they are. They want to make you jump through a few hoops before they let you know how much they missed you… how much we all missed you,” He twisted towards her and said, quietly, “Did you find what you were looking for?”

She smiled as she remembered warm hands and soft words. “Yes, I did.”

“I’m glad,” he said. He squeezed her hand and then brought it to his lips, kissing the back.

“Do you mind if I stay in the bunker until I find somewhere new?” she asked.

“Ianto and I can-” he broke off when he saw the scathing look on her face. He cleared his throat sat up a little straighter. Miranda could tell he was moving into captain mode.

“We have a near earth object warning from NASA,” he said, officially.

She rolled her eyes. “They don’t need to tell us… to mention every little piece of debris that passes through the solar system.”

Jack shrugged. “This one has a high impact probability but it’s harmless. Ianto’s handling the particulars.”

Miranda nodded and then said, slightly hopeful, “He’s taken over as second in command?”

He cleared his throat. It was a nervous gesture that was followed by a slight jut of his chin. “And medic.”

Her only response was a surprised raise of her eyebrow. Being relieved of the administrative second in command duties was one thing but her duties as medic?

“He went through the army’s combat medic training. He’s been auditing some classes too.” When she didn’t say anything, he continued, “Henry’s our new butler. His coffee isn’t as good and he doesn’t look as good in a suit but he’s getting the hang of things. He goes into the field sometimes as backup but him and Fish are never allowed on a field call alone together.”

Miranda nodded at the rule. She wondered if something had happened to warrant it. It was a deviation from the norm. Jack and Ianto were a married couple but regularly went out on field calls together.

“You’ll have to retake all the field certifications. Hand to hand with Ianto in the morning and marksmanship with Gwen in the afternoon.”

“Since I won’t be resuming work immediately, I’d like to take today to start looking for a new flat,” she said, waving around the room. “Where are my things?”

“Storage across the hall. I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.”

She nodded and started to leave.

“And Will?”

She stopped and turned to look at him.

“Welcome home.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

Ianto ripped the comm unit out of his ear and dropped it on his desk. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and sighed. He opened the top drawer and took out the bottle of paracetamol. He chased the two pills with water, wincing at the bitter taste. While he was immortal and immune to illness and disease, he wasn’t immune to a stress induced migraine. _Can’t have everything…_

The near Earth object was clearly too small to cause any damage upon impact. Damage was even less likely since it was going to splash down in the middle of the ocean. It didn’t matter. The Americans were making Ianto’s life difficult anyway. Because they had discovered the object, they were insisting upon collecting it for scientific purposes. Ianto thought that was ridiculous. This object was no different than any other meteor that would fall to Earth and the logistics of collecting it were an absolute nightmare if not a complete impossibility. Unfortunately, now that the Americans were demanding this hunk of space rock, other countries, thinking it must somehow be important, were now vying for it. Poor Ianto had spent all day on the phone, back and forth between UNIT and the Americans and so many other people that he’d had lost track. He couldn’t believe they were making all this fuss over a random piece of rock. He leaned forward, willing the throb behind his eyes to vanish. At least, he’d managed to take this steaming pile of shite and dump it right into Ethan Donovan’s lap where it belonged. He didn’t even feel badly about it.

“Ifan? Are you all right?” Miranda asked, gently.

“Fine,” he said, sighing.

“Jack brought me up to date on the object collision,” she said, cautiously stepping into the room.

This he could do. He could be professional and civil, and talk about work. “I was trying to mediate the specifics between us, UNIT and the Americans. It’s just a piece of rock but everyone wants it for scientific study.”

“A random meteorite?” she said, raising her eyebrows in surprise.

Ianto nodded. “The American politicians appear to have seen Armageddon a few too many times. They think studying it will glean them some miraculous knowledge that will help the planet in the event of a real object collision. Bunch of bollocks.”

“And with the international waters impact, jurisdiction is problematic,” she supplied.

“Which is why I told them that Torchwood appreciated the notice, does not feel the bloody thing is important and told them to have at it.” His throbbing head was a testament to the jurisdictional problems.

She cleared her throat. “I need you to clear me for hand to hand.”

In the midst of all the bureaucratic idiocy, it had slipped his mind. “Yeah, yeah, give me ten minutes. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“Jack tells me you went through combat medic training,” she said, extending the olive branch. “Why not medical school?”

“We were short handed,” Ianto said, tightly.

He could tell she was trying to ease into a more serious conversation and he wanted to have that conversation but he wanted it to be on his terms, not hers. He was happy she was back, but there were some things that needed to be said and done before he could move forward. “I couldn’t afford to be away for so long…”

“Perhaps someday,” she suggested.

He snorted at the idea.

“I think you’d make an excellent doctor, Ifan,” she said. She pushed aside the small file tray, revealing the list of initials. “You haven’t added yours.”

Ianto’s throat involuntarily tightened when he saw Owen and Cameron’s initials. He pushed the files back. He hadn’t added his to the list because he didn’t feel like they should be there. He wasn’t a doctor. He was just a temporary medic. “Someone had to step up. Fill the void.”

“I’m proud that you did,” she said, beaming.

He saw the olive branch but he wasn’t ready to reach for it yet. He stood up and put on his suit jacket. He buttoned it as he walked out of the autopsy bay. “Ten minutes, the hand to hand gym.”

Miranda winced inwardly at the awkward space between them. She sighed.

“Give him time,” Henry said from atop of the stairs.

“I expected it,” she said, waving after Ianto.

Normally, she would address Henry by some honorific, engaging in their playful mock formality. She’d drop a low curtsey for this son of a king to tease him but she could feel the uncomfortable strain between them, too. She braced herself, looked at Henry and said, “Are you going to have a go as well?”

“Like Jack, I have dealt with your silences before, Mao-Lin. They have not,” Henry said, descending the stairs. His back was straight, his chin parallel to the floor. Miranda took in the regal posture. _So he is going to have a go…_ She was about to open her mouth but he cut her off.

“This is the age of modern technology. They are accustomed to picking up a mobile telephone to send a text message to stay in contact with those for whom they care. They do not remember a time when a letter could take a year to cross an ocean or months to cross land.”

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he clasped his hands tightly behind his back. “And just because I am familiar with such times and your patterns of behaviour does not mean that I do not find your absences hurtful. You are my friend but first and foremost you are my teacher. So, I say this will all possible respect, Mao-Lin… You behave selfishly. You, of all people, should understand what a great gift these people are - how rare it is to find acceptance of our immortality and the Game amongst mortals. You take their love and acceptance and repay it with indifference. It is a poor way to return such a gift.”

Again, he cut her off before she could respond. “You fled Cardiff as if you were alone in the world, but you are not. Here you are surrounded by friends - by family. And yet, you went from this place as if neither existed. Even worse, you did so as if you cared not what you had left behind and without so much as a backward glance or plan to return.” He tilted his head slightly. Acrimony was in his gaze though the rest of his face was largely impassive.

“It is a wound that was easily made but not easily mended. You disappoint me,” he said, darkly.

Miranda kept her gaze down, ashamed and embarrassed. All she’d been able to think about was herself and her own despair. In the past, she’d left nothing behind when she’d retreated. This time, she’d been so distraught that she’d been blind to the support of loved ones around her. She’d been operating on automatic pilot, repeating behaviours and patterns she hadn’t tried to change in centuries.

She took a step forward, holding out her hand. “I’m sorry, Henry. All too often I forget that you are not just my student, but that you are a much valued and very dear friend.”

He took it and pulled her into a tight embrace. “You are forgiven. As always.” He leaned back and brushed the fringe out of her eyes. “You look like something out of a music video. It suits you.”

“Henry!” Jack’s voice bellowed out across the Hub and the Duke sighed.

“His Majesty is rolling over in his grave,” Miranda finally teased. “Your grace has taken a lesson in humility?”

Henry rolled his eyes. “While I am thrilled to spend more time with Joe, I am, however, less enthusiastic about dealing with Jack’s mercurial nature so closely and so frequently,” he said with a smile. After Jack shouted his name again, Henry squeezed Miranda’s arm and left the autopsy bay.

With one fence mended, Miranda turned her attention to another one. With a deep sigh, she walked down to the hand to hand gym. Ianto was sitting on one of the benches on the right side of the room. He’d changed out of his suit, donning a tight fitting t-shirt and pair of bike shorts. Miranda immediately noticed the changes to his body. It wasn’t just the added muscle, it was in the way Ianto carried himself. There was a presence and a force to his posture that had always been there but it now had iron poured into it.

After Jennifer Richter and Perry Kent, Ianto realised he needed to be more proactive about his survival. So, he’d reached out to the Highlander. Duncan MacLeod had graciously given Ianto the names of a few friendly immortals who could enhance his training. Stretched thin, Ianto had made the most of what limited time he could scrape together and he had learned so much.

It made her return all the more bittersweet for him. Of course, she’d come back as a beloved friend, and a colleague, but she didn’t return as his teacher. Ianto was on the scoreboard – this time on his own two feet. She felt the difference. It made her proud but it also changed the space between them - altering the density and pressure of the air.

“Ifan…”

“You’re sorry, I know,” he said, turning.

“I am. I’m so sorry.”

The contrition was genuine, there was no doubt about that. He sighed and picked up a bottle of water. He twisted the cap, freeing it from the plastic safety ring with a crack-snap but the moment the bottle was open, he didn’t drink. Instead, he twisted the cap back shut again. It was an uncomfortable fidget. “I get it, Mandy. I do. I’m sure in a few centuries I’ll probably need some time, too. That’s what we all thought - that you were just taking a little time. But when I found your mobile on your kitchen counter? That stung. Then I found out you paid Gunther for a new identity. That’s when I knew you were dropping off the face of the planet.”

She didn’t even bother asking how he knew about Kristof Gunther, a master document forger used by nearly every immortal in Europe. He had created a new identity for her. He’d done his research. The fledgling has left the nest and flown well.

“Now that, I didn’t understand. It’s not my place to judge, but I won’t tell you I wasn’t angry, because I was,” He sighed again and gave a small shake of his head. He twisted the cap off the water bottle again and, again, replaced it. “Especially after Gwen… after she lost the baby, I knew you’d want to know… want to be here. I talked to Lanning and Meredith. I talked to Methos and Duncan. I talked to Arjun and Amunet. I begged the Watchers. When I reached the bottom of the barrel, I even asked Ethan Donovan to do some digging.” He shook his head. “You’re like a sister to her, Mandy. And she needed you. She’s too proud to say so.”

“I know. I’m going to talk to her later,” she said, ashamed. “Are we okay, Ifan?”

Ianto tossed the towel in his hand towards the benches as he stepped onto the mats. Miranda took the movement to mean their conversation was over so she turned and walked in the same direction. Ianto was behind her and he capitalised on her turned back. He didn’t wait for them to get into position or for her to say she was ready.

Suddenly, a foot kicked her right in her rear, sending her sprawling forward. Miranda rolled, snapping her head around at the unsportsmanlike move. Continuing in the same dishonest vein, Ianto didn’t give her time to collect herself. He rushed forward, landing a solid punch to her face. After hauling her up by her hair, he kneed her in the gut. She reached down, grabbing his knee and twisting it. Unbalanced, Ianto fell backwards. He brought his other leg around, delivering a solid kick to her knee and she reeled backwards. This time, she was prepared for him and took a defensive posture. Ianto held nothing back. He went at her with everything he’d learned over the past year and a half.

His new skill caught Miranda off guard. She saw several manoeuvres that she had not taught him. He’d clearly been learning on his own, studying with others. He’d told her little about his experience in the pocket universe but it was enough for her to guess at who had been his teacher there. He’d picked up many of MacLeod’s habits and style. The man fighting her now had matured and found his own path. She was still stronger and faster but Ianto was edging towards defeating her. With more quickenings under his belt and a few centuries behind him, Ianto Jones would become a formidable presence in the Game. _Ifan of Cymru…_ she thought. She had never been more proud of a student before.

She didn’t let his new skill distract her too much. As he twisted, he expertly dodged a blow that was headed for his neck. Miranda had just tried to crush his windpipe. Normally, a field certification was done gently because it only needed to test skill and strength but the immortal members of the team never needed to mind their contact. When the immortals sparred, it was always with deadly force. He sprang back at her, taking advantage of her momentum. He wrapped his arm underneath hers, locking it behind her neck. He brought his other arm up to her head and applied pressure. There was a sickening crunch as her neck broke.

Ianto dropped her to the ground in a heap. He walked over to the bench and picked up a towel, wiping his face. He picked up a water bottle and drank half of it down then dumped the rest over his head and down the back of his neck. He sat down heavily on the bench and turned away from her. He clenched his jaw as he shook his head.

The time Miranda had been gone reminded Ianto of his time in the pocket universe and when Jack had vanished with the Doctor. His feelings had mostly been the same. It had been the same bitter pill choking its way down his throat - a compressed amalgam of disappointment and abandonment. Jack had had faith. He’d told Ianto over and over again… _She does this sometimes, Yan…_ His husband hadn’t been the least bit concerned. Ianto hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that Miranda was gone and that she wasn’t coming back and that Jack was just deluding himself. _Was that how I sounded to the others after Jack left with the Doctor?_ he’d wonder into the dark during sleepless nights.

After scrubbing at his face, he threw his leg over the bench, turning to face Miranda’s body. He hadn’t been keeping track of the time at all. He had no idea when she would revive.

His victory both pleased and disturbed him in equal amounts. Successfully beating the piss out of her had given him some satisfaction about his fighting skill and alleviated most of his anger and resentment. He knew Miranda hadn’t let him win. That tacit gesture would have made him angrier but he’d won, fair and square. It was quite the ego boost but he felt that he was enjoying it a little too much.

Just as the self satisfaction swelled, Miranda gasped and convulsed. Ianto finished his bottle of water.

“Now, we’re okay.” He stood up, tucking the empty bottle underneath his arm. “You passed. I’ll file the paperwork.”

He turned and started to walk away. He waved a friendly farewell with the water bottle. As he opened the gym door, he called out without turning around, “Sparring at five like always, yeah? Now, maybe I can teach you a thing or two.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be participating in NaNoWriMo. Posting for this story will be on hold. See you in December!

Miranda would have liked to have gotten something to eat before her marksmanship test, but she didn’t have time. There was also a swamp of regret and dread squishing around in her stomach that would've made digesting anything problematic at best. It had all started when Ethan Donovan had told her about Gwen and Rhys’s loss. It had been foolish for her to leave no way for the team to contact her. At first, she’d told herself she’d left her mobile behind because it wasn’t necessary. She’d convinced herself that they’d all be fine and could get by without her. She thought no one would need to reach her and that they wouldn't even think on it. But the truth was that she’d been selfish. She'd wanted to be left alone. Her tunnel vision had been so complete that she hadn’t thought, she’d lied to herself and ran. Now it was time to pay the piper.

Women reacted to this sort of disagreement much differently than men. All Miranda needed to do with the boys was apologise, endure a small humiliation, which in Ianto’s case, had been an arse kicking. Women held grudges and acted more passive aggressively. Miranda could apologise all she wanted but none of it would make any difference until Gwen was ready. Even then, it may not be forgive and forget. Gwen wouldn't necessarily vocalise it, but she would remember Miranda's hurtful behaviour, making it a factor in every disagreement or bit of friction between the women. Though Gwen was professional and Miranda doubted it would affect their working relationship, it could damage their friendship. Miranda prayed that that wasn’t the case.

She tried to put the repetitive thought out of her head as she collected her Glock from the armoury and went to the range. She wasn’t entirely successful and still felt distracted by the time she’d arrived at the range door. She accepted the fact that she may have to repeat the test a few times before she passed. Torchwood regulations said she needed a minimum of twelve out of twenty points to pass the marksmanship certification. With extensive practice, Miranda usually averaged a fourteen. She hadn’t fired a gun since she’d gone to New York and was an abysmal shot. The lack of practice combined with nerves didn’t make her hopeful. If she failed, she wouldn't be able to retake the examination for another month.

She opened the door slowly and leaned her head in. Gwen was standing off to the side and she tapped the counter in front of her. Though she looked fit and healthy, the former PC’s face bore signs of strain. The lines around her eyes were deeper as was the crease between her eyebrows. There were a few more grey strands peeking through the deep brown hair. But mostly, she looked tired. There was a weary shadow to the doe eyes. Miranda knew it well. It was a shade brought on by loss and grief.

“I know you’re rusty,” she said, simply. “I’ll let you squeeze off a clip for practice before we get started.”

“Gwen…”

“Step up to the firing point, Miranda, and make the weapon ready,” she interrupted.

The distance between them felt deep and wide so Miranda simply obeyed. After the practice firing, Gwen began the test. Miranda did her best to concentrate and took it much slower than she normally would have. To her own surprise, she passed, but by a slim margin. It was nothing new. Miranda’s aim had always been utter crap.

After Miranda had made the weapon safe and taken Gwen through the cleaning process, Gwen said, “I’ll let Jack know you passed and sign the paperwork.”

Miranda put her hand down on the counter and began, gently, “I want to apologise, Gwen. I-”

Gwen turned to face her friend and held her hand up to stop the apology. Her eyes were stern.

“Stop right there, Miranda.” She folded her arms over her chest. “Look, I didn’t much care for you when you first arrived - especially with the way you and Jack carried on. I tried not to judge. I knew you both had a past I wasn’t privy to at the time but all I could see was that slighted look that flashed across Ianto’s face every time Jack would kiss your neck or you’d run your fingers through his hair. You were the new girl but you were comfortable and settled in like you’d been here for ages and that unsettled me.” She leaned her hip against the counter.

“But I got over it and you became like a sister to me even though sometimes you made the hair on my arms stand on end and when you shot that boy, I thought I finally knew why. I’d lumped you into a certain sort - the kind that do it, because it makes you happy.” She shifted her weight to her other foot.

“But I was wrong. I can see it, sometimes, swirling around in your eyes - enough guilt to last as many lifetimes as you’ve lived. Vera had it wrong. It wasn’t just that I thought he wasn’t good enough for you. I was worried he’d make you fall into old habits. John Hart enjoys that sort of villainy, he does.” She shifted her weight back again, leaning her hip against the counter. “But I realised that’s not who you are anymore.”

She lifted her head to stare at Miranda. “The boys… they all knew you’d come back eventually. Even though Ianto won’t admit it, deep down he did too. But the minute Jack told us you’d gone, I, honest to God, thought I’d never see you again. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe in you or that I didn’t have any hope that you’d come back because those are different things.”

She took a deep breath and when she let it out it was a little shaky. “I’ve had a rough go of it lately and despite the rocky start we had, I would’ve liked to have had you there for support. But I don’t hold it against you for doing what you needed to do. Every woman needs time and space alone - a room of their own so to speak.”

She shifted her weight again. “It was hard being a woman with the police. You get wrapped up in proving yourself - not just to your colleagues but to yourself. And you learn to shrug off the people who think less of you but sometimes you try so hard not to let anyone else get to you that you let it snowball. It grows and builds all on its own until it starts to creep into other parts of your life. You start tossing up walls and before you know it you’ve thrown up walls in places you didn’t meant to put them. Then you start to think that you’re better off as an island. That you’re better off alone. Then you believe that everyone else is better off without you, that you didn’t mean anything to them anyway, that you didn’t matter. And I hope to God one day that you stop thinking that way, Miranda.”

Before she could answer, the lights in the firing range went on and off a few times. Gwen let out a sigh, then walked over to the wall intercom and flipped the switch.

“Firing range,” she said.

“Sorry to interrupt, Gwen. There’s been a spike.” It was Fish.

“We’ll be up in a minute,” she said.

Just as she was about to step away, Fish quickly added, “It’s internal.”

“Where?” Gwen asked.

“Pinpointed in the decontamination showers,” Fish said.

“Miranda and I will check it,” she replied. “Firing range out.”

Gwen squared her shoulders and walked back to Miranda who had already readied the weapons for them. She saw Gwen mentally put their personal conversation to the side.

“We haven’t had an internal spike in a while,” she said, handing Gwen a weapon.

As she checked the gun, Gwen started for the door with Miranda following her. She held the door open for her.

“I don’t remember us ever having one.”

“It was the eighties, I think. It doesn’t happen often because we’re below ground,” Miranda said, shrugging.

It was a short walk through to the garage. There were a couple decontamination showers throughout the Hub all a short walk from the entrances. The one attached to the garage was the largest. Thankfully, they were rarely used. Miranda moved up front, taking point as was usual. She’d been gone a while but she doubted the rule that ‘Warders Orders’ had changed. Gwen reached for the door knob nodded to Miranda as she counted down, silently. On the third nod, she opened the door, flinging it wide. The two women burst into the room, guns raised, but it was empty.

“Changing room,” Gwen whispered.

They moved through the shower area towards the small changing room, looking up and down. That room was also empty.

“Clear,” Gwen said, holstering her weapon. She began scanning with her PDA while Miranda did a complete visual inspection. They took their time, walking the grid, scanning up and down for anything that might have come through.

“Anything?” Gwen called out.

Miranda shook her head even though Gwen couldn’t see her. “Nothing.”

“Well, thank God for that,” Gwen said.

Automatically, the former PC stepped towards Miranda, her fist cupped in her other hand. This was an old tradition.

Usually, each operative who answered a field call was required to write a report but when nothing was found on a rift spike, Jack only required one report. Whenever the two women encountered this situation, they used to play a small game of rock, paper, scissors to determine who would get the chore of writing the report.

Gwen had obviously moved to start the game without thinking, purely out of habit. There was an awkward pause that lasted the split second that it took for Gwen to realise what she’d done. Miranda could see the conscious decision. Gwen lifted her hands higher and took another step towards her friend.

“Best two out of three?” Gwen asked, with a small grin.

Miranda smiled and walked over with her fist in her other hand. She wasn’t even annoyed when she lost.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I'm now 10,000+ words behind in Nanowrimo and all because I can't stop writing this blasted story, I figured I should just go with it.

It felt very strange knocking on Jack’s office door for permission to enter so she could go into the bunker. Miranda winced as the neglected hinge squealed loudly. Jack made her a promise to oil it later on. Her search for a flat came up with nothing so far. So, after writing her report and eating dinner, Miranda decided to make the bunker more comfortable and unpack her things into the furniture that Ianto and Jack had left behind.

After climbing down the ladder, she set her sword next to the bed and then put her mobile telephone onto the small dresser. She unlocked the phone and opened the clock application. The timer was still carefully ticking down to the time Hart had told her he would appear.

As always when she looked at it, Miranda wondered where he would do so. He’d given her a time and date but not a location. Even though she had no idea where Hart would return, she’d decided the most logical place to be was Cardiff. His future self promised that he was returning for her and that was where he’d left her. She let out an impatient sigh then locked her phone, setting it carefully down on the bedside table. It would be best if she’d stopped staring at the timer so much. It was becoming her watched pot.

She opened up the dresser and smiled. The air that wafted up at her still smelled of Ianto’s aftershave and Jack. It made her long for leather, sandalwood and cinnamon. For a moment, she wondered if she should’ve selected Hart’s old stateroom instead of the bunker but then dismissed the idea. Surely, the former Time Agent’s alluring scent had faded from the room by now. She glanced at the mobile phone on the bedside table and smiled.

Her mind filled with joyful memories of her night with Hart in New York. He had spent the whole night and had left in the morning after cooking American style pancakes swimming in butter and syrup, served alongside berries doused with fresh cream. _That’s my favourite…_ she’d said, surprised. He’d smiled, his eyes twinkling with love, and replied, _I know…_ Their lusty night had been the same. The John Hart between her thighs had known her. He’d touched her with the tender familiarity of a life long lover. She wondered if even Jack knew her body as well as this future version of Hart had.

He’d kissed her goodbye and stepped into the vortex. She hadn’t been sad, she’d been elated. He was coming back to her. As she stared at the mobile, she was practically giddy. She hadn’t felt this young in centuries. For the first time in… well, she couldn’t remember how long… she was looking forward to the future so much so that it could almost be called a manic anticipation.

She looked up at the sound of knocking followed by a loud throat clear.

“Can I come down, Evie?”

“Of course, Fish,” she said.

Even though her friend had greeted her with such enthusiasm, Miranda knew there would be things that needed saying. She unzipped the case so she could unpack a little as they talked, eager to use the chore to dispel some nervous energy. She winced as she saw her shampoo bottle had leaked into the plastic bag she’d wrapped it in. She dumped the bottle into the sink and began rinsing it while Fish climbed down into the bunker. The Australian looked to be on his way out, his messenger bag over his shoulder.

He looked around awkwardly as he scratched at his head. “I haven’t been down here since… Actually, never mind, I’ve never been down here.”

Since there was no where else, he sat down on the bed. The small room was uncomfortably claustrophobic. Fish suppressed the feeling that the walls and ceiling were closing in on him.

“How did two grown men live down here for eight years?” he muttered. Not exactly small blokes, are they? He looked up at the hatch and then the furniture. “Better question, how the fuck did they get this furniture down through that hole?”

Good question… she thought. Since she had absolutely no answer so she just shrugged. She put the wet shampoo bottle onto the toilet tank to dry and then wiped her hands. With a hesitant smile, she asked, “What’s up, Fish?”

He started with the official and dug in the bag for her new keycard and old credentials. “I assumed you’d be using the same name so I reactivated your old codes and login. We changed the keycard system a few months ago. I’m going to need to resample your voice for the voice interactive system.”

Miranda set the items down next to her mobile. “Thanks, Fish. Can that wait until tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow morning’s fine,” he said, nodding. “Since Ianto’s medic, his workstation is in the autopsy bay now. Your workstation in the main Hub is back up and running.” He dug through the bag again and handed her two electronic devices. “We upgraded the PDAs a few months ago, too. This device is smaller, has better battery life and the user interface is smoother. It has the usual tweaks and alien enhancements. Let me know if you want any training on it.” He nodded at the pre-paid, disposable mobile telephone sitting on the bedside table. “You know you can’t use that burner.”

She nodded. “It’s for something else.”

He resisted rolling his eyes at the cryptic answer as he handed her a new mobile, clearing his throat. “I set this one up for you. It has all your old data on it. I basically cloned your old one. Let me know if there’s any changes you want or if anything’s missing.”

She took the devices. “Thanks, Fish.”

The room became uncomfortable as the pause filled with apprehension. To Fish’s profound disappointment, Miranda broke the silence with, “I’m so sorry, Joe.”

Even though Fish hated the childhood nickname that Miranda had resurrected, he also hated it when the team used his given name as a bribe.

“Stop being sorry, Evie, for fuck’s sake,” he said, sharply. He put his hands on his knees and pushed himself up. “Look, I’m not cross. I knew you’d be back. I’m not going to have a go like the others and I don’t want to beat a dead horse but there’s just something I need to get off my chest.” He let out a small, disappointed sigh. “I know John did a number on you. I’ve been there. I’m your friend, Evie. I would’ve been there for you. We all would’ve… just like after Nora.” He sniffed and rubbed at his nose. A profoundly hurt look came across his face. “I just didn’t think that needed saying.”

After flashing a tight smile that never reached his eyes, he dug into the bag again, removing the last item. It was a large envelope. As she took the envelope, his smile became warmer. “This is for you.”

She peered inside. There were several wedding photographs. She smiled at the thoughtfulness. “Thank you.”

“Henry picked the pictures he thought you’d like, but we have all the originals at home. We’d love it if you’d come round one night for dinner. You can take a look at the pictures, pick out whatever you want. There’s video too.”

“I’d like that a lot, Fish,” she said, still shuffling through the pictures. She paused at a picture of Tom and Fish shaking hands.

Fish cleared his throat. “Tom and Alice split, by the way, couple weeks ago. He’s pretty broken up about it and it would probably help him a lot if you rang.”

Miranda furrowed her brow, annoyance directed at Alice rose up and Fish read her mind.

“Before you go blaming Alice, it wasn’t entirely her fault,” Fish said. He sighed and admitted, “Actually, it was probably more Tom’s than hers.”

“What happened?”

“He was moving too fast. Henry warned him. I warned him. Jack warned him. But he wouldn’t listen.” He shrugged. “I admit the long distance thing was hard on them but they were making it work. Right before you left, Tom was thinking about relocating here. Alice put him off a few times but she finally gave in. He left the NYPD and closed out his pension.”

“He’s been unhappy for a while,” she said, sighing. “He was probably looking for any excuse.”

Fish nodded. “He was. Once he was here, they had a huge row about living together. Tom wanted to move in or get a place together and Alice said no.”

Tom had always been impulsive, often bordering on manic - a trait he’d inherited from his mother. She and Henry had tried their best to teach their son prudence and mindfulness but they’d had almost no success.

“She gave in there too. By the end of the summer, they were living together.” He let out another sigh. “She just kept giving in. I think he got the message that if he kept at it, he’d get what he wanted.”

“And then he decided to propose,” Miranda said, seeing exactly where this story was going.

Fish nodded. “Even though Alice said she didn’t want to ever get remarried, he wouldn’t let up. He wouldn’t listen to any of us. Last week, after she refused the fifth proposal, she’d had enough.”

“And finally put her foot down.”

He nodded again. “Like I said, Tom’s pretty upset. He misses Steven.”

“Do you think Alice would be agreeable to a reconciliation if Tom dropped the notion of marriage?” she asked.

“I think she would be,” Fish said, hopeful.

Miranda nodded. “I’ll talk to him.”

“He’ll appreciate it. He wouldn’t say so but he missed you.”

She didn’t have the heart to tell any of them that the only person who’d known where she was or had had any means to contact her had been Tom. She’d been unable to completely abandon him. She’d sworn her son to secrecy, but even though he could’ve contacted her at any time, he'd never done so. She’d no idea his relationship had crumbled.

“He’s not cross, Evie. He’ll just be happy to have you back,” he insisted. He reached out for her hand and said, “We’re all happy to have you back.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

The entire Torchwood team was in the boardroom. Miranda had been back a week and they had settled back into normalcy. The fact that the week had been very, very busy had helped. Now that it was quiet, they were all sitting in the boardroom for a friendly Saturday night dinner. Their normal seats were shifted, the couples sitting unusually close to each other. Jack and Ianto were both at the head of the table, feeding each other bits of food. Fish and Henry were sitting next to each other. Henry had his legs draped over Fish’s. Rhys had swung by on his way home from work and was sitting with his wife in his lap. Miranda, the seventh wheel, was sitting in her usual place at the foot of the table. They were all laughing at yet another one of Jack’s barely believable stories while Ianto occasionally rolled his eyes at his husband’s antics.

They were all looking from Ianto to Miranda and back again. The two immortals shrugged and Miranda said, “What are you looking at us for? We’re not Harkness lie detectors.”

“So, you were sentenced to death and carted off? What did you do? How’d you escape?” Gwen asked, laughing.

“I had a little help,” Jack said, chuckling between words. That chuckle suddenly stopped and Jack looked down into his lap.

At that moment, an awkwardness spread out into a thin veil that blanketed the entire room. They all knew exactly who had helped him escape his predicament. It was Miranda who broke the strained silence. She certainly didn’t want the team walking on eggshells around her as they’d done before she’d left.

“So the two of you bedded the royal guard together?” she asked, cheerfully. If it was forced or fake, none of them could tell.

Jack said, with a shrug, “Well, he wasn’t there for that part. I needed someone to distract the Mantid.”

“Mantid?” Henry asked, looking a bit frightened.

Jack held his hand up about a few feet off the floor. “Colourful carapaces. The females have very iridescent wings. You just have to be careful of the pincers.”

Henry looked positively horrified while Fish winced. He let out a worried sort of laugh and said, “Ouch.”

“Not the type for cuddling afterwards, are they?” Rhys asked with a deep laugh.

Gwen was laughing with her hand over her mouth. She asked, “Do I even want to know the semantics?”

“Well,” Jack said, dramatically. The rest of his explanation was cut off. The rift alarm sounded and everyone pushed back from the table. Just as they’d all gotten to their feet, the next alarm to go off was the intruder alert.

That lit a fire under all of them. As was his habit, Jack wasn’t armed and most of the others weren’t either. They all rushed into the main Hub to arm themselves while Fish tried to get a fix on their intruder.

“Talk to me, Fish!” Jack shouted.

“I’ve got nothing, Jack!” he said, frantic. He kicked his desk in frustration. “Something’s bloody fucking with my system!”

Jack emerged from his office with his gun. That was when they all heard the sound of booted feet coming up the east stairs. Every single team member descended, weapons raised as the sound of boots grew louder.

They were all stunned when the red-jacketed figure of Captain John Hart strutted his way up the stairs.

Miranda’s eyes went wide and she lowered her gun. The timer on her bedside table was still ticking and had plenty of time left.

“Jon…” she gasped.

“Howdy, Dollface. Miss me?” he asked, his arms wide.

“JON!” she shouted and ran for him. None of the others could stop her in time.

He wrapped his arms around her, rocking her back and forth a few times. “I missed you too.”

“You’re early,” she said, softly into his neck.

“Nope, right on time,” he said. He smiled at her confusion. He winked and said, “Time travel. I'm not the me you're expecting. This is a different version, Dollface. From the original and the one you just saw.”

Like in New York, Miranda began examining his face for signs of Hart’s age. The first difference she noticed were the more extensive blonde highlights. The lines in his face were a little deeper than they’d been in New York. There was still the grey throughout his hair, but this time there was more concentrated at the temples. There was a small scrape just below his right ear that looked a day or two old. She reached up her hand and ran it down his cheek.

“I’m still coming back to you, I promise, just like I said. Soon.”

He drew her in and kissed her deeply. Jack watched her actually melt. Her shoulders slumped and her knees bent. If Hart hadn’t been holding on to her, she would’ve ended up on the floor.

Jack cleared his throat loudly. “I hate to break this up.”

Miranda stepped back, her face flushed. Jack gave Hart a look that said _I’ll deal with you in a minute_. Then, he turned to his technician and ordered, “Go see if anything else slipped through, Fish.”

“Right… right,” Fish said. He gave Hart an absolutely scathing look and said, “But first…”

He stepped forward and swung at him. The punch landed so solidly that the other man staggered backwards.

“That’s for being a complete fucking piece of shit!” he spat then turned on his heel and stormed off to his workstation.

Hart spat blood onto the floor and rubbed at his jaw. He called after the Australian, “I know I deserved that the first time, Joe. And it’s only because you think it’s the first time, that I’m letting it go!”

Ianto rolled his eyes. “You’re not our version of Hart.”

“Obviously,” he said, getting to his feet. He cocked his head over his shoulder and winked at Miranda. “I’m always your version, Dollface.”

“Can I hit him too?” Gwen asked, exasperated.

“Shall we form a queue?” Henry suggested.

While Jack was tempted to allow them to do just that, he waved everyone back.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“What? A bloke can’t just stop in?” he quipped with a wide smile. Playfully, he brushed his right index finger down Miranda’s nose. “Visit the little woman?”

The movement had shifted the sleeve of his red jacket. Jack reached forward and took hold of his arm. He pushed the sleeve back, twisting his forearm in his hands a few times as if it would change what he was seeing. He said, “Where’s your vortex manipulator?”

“On the fritz,” he said, shrugging.

“How’d you get here, then?”

Hart opened his jacket’s inside pocket. The device looked like a very narrow soda can. “This little beauty.”

Jack snatched it right out of his hand and shouted, “Where did you get this? This isn’t in our Archive.”

“I picked it up somewhere,” his former partner said.

“'Picked it up somewhere?' Where? The Apple Store?” He waved the device in front of Hart’s face. “You had to travel forward a fair bit to even find this technology. So where’d it come from, John?” He paused, waiting for an answer. “John?”

“All right, all right! I stopped back at the Agency to try and get my manipulator fixed. Guess you can only dip into that honey pot once,” Hart replied, sighing. “I had to make a run for it, so I bought that on the black market.”

“This thing is a piece of junk! You’re lucky you made it back here alive!” Jack exclaimed.

“I didn’t exactly have time to shop around!”

“Who sold you this thing? How hot is it?”

“It’s fine. Dorium said it was on the up and up.”

At that, Jack’s face went from annoyance to anxiety.

“Dorium Maldovar?!” Jack cried. He gave Hart an anxious look mixed with disbelief. He started fiddling with the device. “Oh, why didn’t you say so? I’d certainly trust anything _Dorium_ handed me!”

Jack opened his wrist strap and began frantically tapping at it. “Ianto? Grab me your sword.”

While Ianto obeyed, Jack continued to fiddle with the device. He twisted the top and the casing came off like a peel. He slid a piece out of the side then reached his fingers behind it and pulled out a small crystal.

“Ianto?”

Without a word, Ianto handed over the blade. Jack dropped the crystal onto the concrete and then brought the heavy pummel down onto it. It shattered with a high pitched whine. Jack continued to remove components from the device, destroying them in turn.

Ianto knew the pummel could take the abuse but he winced with each contact the pummel made with the concrete floor. He rolled his eyes and said, “I’m certain a hammer would be just as effective.”

Jack ignored him as he continued to work. He shouted up to their technician, “Fish? Anything out there?”

“Rift’s quiet for now,” he called back.

“Jack, it’s fine,” Hart insisted. “I’m not a complete idiot. Give me a little credit. I checked it out before I activated it. It’s not traceable.”

As Henry approached with a small dustbin and broom, Jack said, “Sorry about the mess, Henry.”

The Duke looked as if he was tidying up to keep himself from throttling Hart.

“Well, I’m glad that thing was one way,” Hart said, surveying the broken pieces.

Jack looked over his shoulder at his husband and said, “Ianto? Get a drawer ready for our guest.” He glared at Hart. “You’re sleeping your way back to your own time.”

“Wait, do we have to cryofreeze him so soon?” Miranda asked.

Hart smiled at the suggestion. “I could help out until the other me shows up.”

“Oh good, I do get to hit you twice,” Fish said, frowning as he walked over. “The rift looks quiet for now Jack, but obviously, I can’t predict if someone will come through with a device or a vortex manipulator.”

Jack was sorely tempted to put Hart on ice straight away but the look on Miranda’s face changed his mind.

“We need to talk.”

Without another word, he strode towards his office, trying to ignore the scathing looks he got from the others. He held the door open for Hart and then shut it behind them.

“Okay, spill,” he said as he strode past Hart for his desk. “What are you really doing here?”

“What? That thing dropped me in the wrong time,” he said, brightly. A little too brightly.

“You have this knack for being in the wrong place at the right time,” he pointed out with a glare. “You just happen to show up right after she comes skulking back here and just in time to avoid your past self. I saw the settings on that device. How thick do you think I am? You meant to land now. Why are you really here?”

“You know I can’t answer anything,” Hart said as he plopped onto the sofa. He crossed his legs at the ankles in front of him.

“First off, I know that. And second, that wasn’t what I asked,” he said. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

Hart looked at his vortex manipulator and shrugged. “In about a fortnight, the version of me that lines up with your linear time line will be back and you won’t-”

“Woah, woah,” Jack said, waving his hands.

“I’m not telling you anything revealing,” he said. At the glare Jack gave him, he said, “Oh, and thanks for the vote of confidence! You really thought I’d never come back?”

At that, Jack stood up. He planted his hands on his desk and yelled, “You snuck away while she was asleep in your bed! That’s low, even for you! So no, I didn’t think you would.”

“What do you want me to say, Jack? That I was a coward and a fool? You knew that about me already!” Hart turned his head to look at over the main Hub through Jack’s window. “Don’t worry. I spend every second after I get back making it up to her.” Unconsciously, he began fiddling with the ring on his left hand. “I made my promises.”

“Is that what I think it is?” Jack asked. He didn’t bother hiding his disbelief.

“Genuine psychic gold,” Hart said. He gazed at the ring fondly.

“Who’d you rip off?”

“Papa always had more money than he knew what to do with,” Hart said with a smirk.

Now that got Jack’s attention. “You ripped off your father?!” He narrowed his eyes. “Did your sister help you?”

“Judi had a bit of a hand in it, yeah,” Hart said, smiling.

“You think he’s going to let that go? Do you know what he’ll do to her? To you?”

“I left her the same panic button you just destroyed. She’s never used it.”

Jack didn’t look convinced. “He could track you here.”

The former Time Agent shrugged and rolled his eyes. “The agency’s shut down. I was his man on the inside. He has no way to. It was ages ago-”

Jack interrupted, “In your linear time line, maybe. You know that’s irrelevant-”

But Hart continued talking over him, “Besides, he can spin it in his favour. That's all he cares about and you know it.”

“You don’t know that.” He asked in a firmer tone of voice, “And you still haven't answered me. Why did you come back here instead of your own time.”

His former partner dropped his hands, laying them on the tops of his thighs. He rubbed at his jeans. It was almost a fidget.

For a minute, he considered letting it go but he couldn't ignore the risk that this non-linear version of Hart posed. The man's father was a monster, driven by greed and power. He wouldn't allow his team to get caught the crossfire of family revenge. Not again.

“I know you too well, John. I know it's not about continuity. I know it's not about ensuring something in the time line. I can tell. So, I'll ask you again. Why are you here?”

“Okay, I’ll fess up. This was the only time coordinate I was positive I wouldn’t run into myself.”

“What about the one you left?” he asked, stating the obvious. “You could’ve just continued along your linear path. What aren’t you telling me here, John? And for the last time, why are you here?”

Hart fidgeted again, still reluctant. He confessed, “Sometimes I travel around in her time line.”

“Are you out of your mind?!” Jack cried. Whatever he'd expected, it certainly wasn't that!

“You think it’s going to be a lifetime together for us? People like me don’t get to live to a ripe old age and die in their sleep,” Hart said, shaking his head. “I’m trying to extend what we have together. For her sake as much as mine.”

“Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”

“I KNOW!” Hart said, tired of the hypocritical judgement. He leapt to his feet. “I know how potentially dangerous it is. I _am_ careful. I’m not an idiot.” He leaned back and said, “It doesn’t matter now. Without my manipulator, I can’t make the jumps anymore. I thought I’d get one more in. So here I am.”

When he’d been able to travel through time, Jack had crossed his own timeline constantly. There had to have been at least three separate versions of him in 1940’s London. Behaviour like that was incredibly dangerous. Keeping it all straight was like playing a game of mental chess and the chances of making a wrong move were high. But Hart’s motivations tugged at Jack’s heart. He was trying to give him and Miranda more time together with the few resources that were available to him and Jack couldn’t fault him that. He gave a frustrated shake of his head and then let out a resigned sigh.

“I’d like to give her the time off but I can’t right now.”

“S’okay,” Hart said with a shrug. Assuming the conversation was over, he stood up and said, “I’ll spend what time I can with her, then you can pop me into the freezer. We time lock some instructions. Bob’s your uncle. Fanny’s your aunt.”

Since he received nothing more than a dismissive nod, he started for the door.

“The blonde looks good on you,” Jack said, off-handedly.

Hart turned and scratched his fingers through his hair. “You like it?”

Jack nodded. “But it doesn’t hide the grey as well as you think it does.”

Hart just shrugged in a dismissive way. “Who said I’m trying to hide the grey?”

He ignored Jack’s scoff and stepped out of his office into the main Hub to find Miranda.

 


	8. Chapter 8

“What on earth has he done to her?” Gwen asked, shaking her head.

“No idea,” Ianto replied, also shaking his head. He was trying to eat his lunch in peace but Gwen had insisted on chewing his ear off, venting about Hart and Miranda. The former PC had done little else since Hart had arrived.

“She never carried on like that with Nora,” Gwen pointed out, rolling her eyes. “Giddy.”

It had been two days since this future version of Hart had arrived. Jack had told them that since this one wasn’t theirs, he didn’t want him helping with field calls. He didn’t want any temporal accidents. Since the rift had been fairly quiet, Hart had glued himself to Miranda’s side. Ianto couldn’t believe the amount of schoolgirl giggling he’d heard come out of Miranda over the past three days. He hadn’t even thought her capable of the noise.

At that moment, that very giggle reached his ears. To Ianto, it was like nails on a chalkboard. Gwen seemed to be objecting more to Hart’s presence and Miranda’s quick forgiveness but Ianto had different concerns. People say relationships should always be fifty-fifty but that’s never the case. One person always leads, while the other person follows. It might not be all the time or with everything, but that was usually the way it worked. Ianto often led while Jack followed. When she’d been with Nora, Miranda had led and Nora had followed and that made sense to Ianto. That was not the case with her and Hart. It was far from it. He’d watched over the past few days as Hart had led and Miranda had followed and the change bothered him.

Miranda waited on Hart like a doting housewife, obedient and demure. Since she’d been raised in a time when women had been little more than property, Miranda prided herself on her strength of character and her independence. This obedient and often subservient woman following Hart around like a lost puppy was not the woman Ianto knew and respected. His friend had vanished, swallowed up in the former Time Agent’s wake.

Ianto knew what that was like. Jack had been such a forceful personality that, in the beginning, he had lost himself whenever he was around him. That had changed a lot over the course of their relationship and now he could hold his own against Jack’s high voltage personality. But it bothered him to see it happening to his friend. He didn’t know if it was all people from Jack’s century or a personality type unique to Time Agents but Hart was sucking her in like a black hole. This new person was someone Ianto didn’t recognise.

“Leave off, Gwen. She’s happy,” Fish said, walking into the Hub kitchen. He rinsed his mug out and putting it into the Hub dishwasher. He stepped towards the refrigerator and opened it, looking for something to eat.

“She never carried on like that with Nora,” she repeated. “And why are you defending him? You laid him out when he got here!”

Fish was still leaning into the fridge so Gwen didn’t see his eye roll. He protested, “Firstly, I am not defending him. What I am doing is pointing out that this is the wrong version for us to be cross with. I say we save it up for the one that really deserves it. And for the record, I’m genuinely happy that I know, for certain, I get to hit him again. Secondly, Gwen, we never saw Nora and Miranda together other than that one time at the pub. So, who’s to say how they acted when they were alone?”

Ianto handed him a plastic fork for his food. He took it and refolded his arms over his chest. “She was walking around here like suicide on a bloody stick before she popped off - worse than Nora if you ask me. I say we leave them be.”

“She’s giggling, Fish,” Gwen said.

The Australian gave her a mildly disgusted look, his mouth and brow twisting. He put his hand out to the side and said, “Christ, Gwen, you’re acting like Evie’s a miserable human being completely incapable of enjoying herself. Just remember, we see her all the time at work. You two’ve spent time outside of here. You’ve seen her laugh and smile. We should be happy that she’s happy. She’s in love. You remember how I was after I met Henry?”

“And still are,” Ianto muttered.

“That’s different-”

“How’s it different, Gwen? Tell me? Because you have a problem with who she’s fallen in love with? How is that any of our business?”

She ignored all of Fish’s very logical and valid points. She shook her head and glared at the couple, muttering, “He’s a bastard.”

“Was I summoned?” Henry asked, walking into the kitchen. He had a playful smile on his face.

Gwen immediately looked sheepish. Though Henry liked to joke about his illegitimacy, it continued to embarrass Gwen. He loved to tease her about using the swear. She cleared her throat.

“Henry, you’ve known her a long time. Have you ever seen her carry on like that?” she asked, jerking her head towards the sofa.

“I have,” Henry said. He peeked into the kitchen’s rubbish bin to see if the bin liner required emptying. He said, “While I do believe Captain Hart should not get away with his mistreatment of her, I am pleased to see her happy again.”

Gwen let out a huff. She refused to believe the others didn’t share her concern. So, she switched topics focusing on her indignation of John Hart. “He pops off, shatters her heart, and he just pops back round and she goes back to him like nothing ever happened.”

She caught Ianto’s gaze and her face took on a sheepish look again.

Ianto rolled his eyes. “It was ten years ago, Gwen. It’s not a sore spot for me anymore. And for the record, I did make him work for it,” He opened the microwave and dumped Fish’s food into a bowl for him. “I do think the way she’s carrying on is unhealthy.”

“What is it you find unhealthy, lad?” Henry asked, confused.

“Getting yourself swallowed up in someone else like that,” he said, shrugging.

“Pot. Kettle,” Gwen muttered under her breath.

Ianto gave her an angry throat clear as a warning. Making vague allusions to Jack swanning off with the Doctor was one thing. Pointing out how Ianto used to lose his own identity when he was around Jack was another thing entirely. It had touched a nerve before but Ianto had never realised that anyone else had noticed. Knowing that Gwen had seen it in him was embarrassing.

“Sorry.”

He gave her a forgiving smile. After sobering his expression, he said, “I think he’s a complete wanker. I never liked him. Neither of us. But that’s all beside the point. The fact that she’s forgiven him? You’re right, Fish, that’s her business. How they’re carrying on? That’s theirs too. If it’s on display? Another point to Fish. They live here.” He looked at each one of them for emphasis. “This dutiful and subservient housewife personality that’s gobbled her up? That’s what has me concerned.”

“You find it out of character,” Henry said, nodding.

“It doesn’t worry you?” Ianto asked.

Henry shook his head. “You forget when I first met Mao-Lin, she was a servant in my half-sister's household. I have known her a long time, seen her from many perspectives.” He took the nearly full bin liner out of the kitchen rubbish bin and tied it closed. The movements were sharp and full of annoyance. “I believe Mao-Lin is merely displaying great affection through doting. I do not believe great happiness is ever a cause for concern in anyone.”

He left the kitchen with the bin liner in his hands. No sooner had he left than Hart walked in. Gwen immediately gave him a look of death and fled. Fish ignored him, his gaze firmly fixed on his food as he too left the room. Ianto was the only one who remained behind.

It was the first time he’d been in the Captain’s presence long enough to scrutinise his appearance. He had no idea how quickly Hart aged but if it was anything like any other twenty first century man, and Ianto seriously doubted it was, he guessed that this John Hart was significantly older than the one he knew. It wasn’t just the grey hair or the lines around his eyes that betrayed his age. There was a settledness to his shoulders. The wanderlust filled rabbit that bounced in Hart was quiet. He looked grounded and content. It made Ianto uncomfortable in the same way Miranda’s demure giggle did. It wasn’t how he thought of Hart.

He'd heard plenty of stories from Jack, of course. They all painted the story of a hedonistic drug addict who occasionally killed for profit or sport. He was the sort of mate everyone had – the one your parents never approved of who got you into all manner of sticky situations and trouble but also managed to get you out of it enough that you ignored the fact that he was the whole cause of the trouble in the first place.

He said, “Captain.”

“Eye Candy,” Hart replied with a cheerful wink. He took a glass out of the cupboard and filled it with water. He could feel Ianto’s eyes burning into the back of his head.

“Didn’t send Mandy in to get that for you?” Ianto sneered.

“It’s for her, not me.” Without turning around, Hart set the glass down on the counter. “You know, I’d forgotten what a complete tosser you were in the beginning. Is that what’s got all your knickers in a twist? Her taking care of me?” He let out a scoff. “Fucking pot, meet fucking kettle.”

Ianto opened his mouth to protest but Hart didn’t let him.

“No, I’m talking now,” he barked. He pushed away from the counter and continued, “You help Jack on with his coat and make him coffee when he’s not in the mood for Henry’s. You do the valet and butler routine good and proper and call him ‘sir.’” He paused, letting those words sink in. “You know how that looks from the outside, Jones, Ianto Jones? It look like all Jack does is take and all you do is give, like he’s the neck, making your head turn any way he wants it to. But you forget, I had that man in my bed too and I know how he works. I know he’s bending over for you more often than you are for him because what does it for the good Captain is a man who he can release control to, someone he can trust. When you call him ‘sir’, the word rolls off your tongue like a squirt of your come down his arse. You kowtow to the good Captain mostly because you love him and also because you know he gets off on knowing the roles are reversed when the doors shut and the sheets get pulled back. You’re a giver, Eye Candy, a nurturer. It makes you happy to take care of him. Well, things never worked out between her and Jack because the two of them are way too alike. The way things work for you and Jack? It’s the way things work for me and her. It's why her and Jack never worked.” He lowered his voice and said, “Think about what would've happened with them if she or Jack had had the balls to tell the truth. But they didn't. They kept waiting for the other to step up and neither of them ever did. Without one of them holding them up, like anything without a foundation, it collapsed.”

He paused again, studying Ianto’s face to see if what he was saying was sinking in. Then he added, “We’re a lot alike, you know.”

Ianto bristled at that. “We are nothing alike.”

Hart leaned back, putting his palms on the edge of the counter.

“Every story has dark chapters. Jack has his. She has hers. Joe. Henry. Even yours. Everyone’s chapters have different titles like ‘my Mummy killed herself’ or ‘my Daddy touched me in places he shouldn’t.’ Those dark chapters? They make us want to skip ahead, to flip the pages to where the story gets funny and light again. It just took me a lot longer than some to stop turning the pages and start writing the story for myself. You don’t have the look or feel of someone who came up without a care in the universe. So, tell me, Ianto? Where would you be if you were still lost and running?”

The question made him think. He thought about his Mum being in and out of Providence Park and what it had done to his Tad and his sister who’d desperately trying to hold them all together even though she was just a kid herself. He remember when he started stealing. Though he’d only been caught shoplifting, he’d started nicking cars. Every time he’d gotten away with it, he felt bolder. Hart’s joking chapter titles rang of too much truth. Would Ianto be who he was now if those things had happened to him? Where would he be if he hadn’t gotten his act together?

“I thought so.” Hart gave him a small nod.

A part of Ianto seethed at the idea that Hart was right, but that part of him was smaller and farther away than he’d thought it should be. He looked at Hart anew and to his own surprise and disgust, he found himself liking the man. That was far more unsettling than the uncharacteristic behaviour of either Hart or Miranda. At least, he was positive that it was temporary. When their Hart returned, Ianto could go back to despising him properly.

Hart turned around and sighed. He waved at the others. “Don’t worry, Eye Candy. I’ll be an ice cube before you know it and you won’t have to think on me and her again.”

“Until the other you shows up,” he bit back.

Hart tilted his head at that. “Not that I owe you the explanation, but I spend every minute trying to make it up to her and be the sort of man she deserves.”

He had nothing to say to that. His skepticism must have shown on his face because Hart said, “Look, Ianto, I’m going to tell you the same thing I told Gwen once. I’m the best version of myself around her. She made me want to be a better person, the kind of person that deserves someone like that. I didn’t think I could do it because being that lying murdering bastard was easy for me.”

“And fun,” Ianto jabbed.

Hart smirked at him. It was nostalgic. “Yes, it was. I won’t lie. I miss it sometimes. But I look back on it like any addict. I can never go back, not even once and not even a little.”

This whole conversation was surreal for Ianto. He was surprised Hart had spoken any of it aloud. “You’ve changed a lot.”

“It’s because of her,” he said. There was a pause and then he quietly said, “It wasn’t easy. But for the first time in my whole worthless, miserable life… I actually like who I am.” He cleared his throat then turned around and picked up the glass behind him. “Now that we’re done with the feels, can I say something?”

Ianto nodded.

“I get that you’re all being protective of her because you love her but what you lot don’t seem to understand is that I love her too. You and Gwen aren’t exactly subtle. She’d kill me for saying this, but you’re spoiling her happiness. What’s worse is that she thinks she deserves it for dodging you all last year. So you and Gwen can be great big twats to me all you want, but you two need to tone it the fuck down in front of her.” He stared Ianto dead in the eyes and he was reminded vividly of the time Hart had run a gun along the side of his face. “Because, I’ll tell you, Eye Candy. That woman’s happiness is everything to me.”

With the glass in hand, he walked away. Ianto swallowed hard. He hadn’t thought for a minute their annoyance at Hart would be upsetting Miranda. Thinking back on it, Hart was right, they hadn't exactly tried to hide it. So, that night he rang Gwen and the two of the agreed to follow Fish’s advice and save up their anger for the Hart that truly deserved it.

 


	9. Chapter 9

As if the tension between the team and Hart were the cause, the rift activity picked up after Hart’s tête-à-tête with Ianto. The next day, they’d all ended up missing lunch and eating dinner on the go. They’d worked through most of the night and Hart, unable to watch them struggle, had pitched in. Even though it wasn’t the busiest they’d ever been, they’d still appreciated the help. It at least allowed them to eat regular meals and get some sleep over the next two days. Jack hadn’t wanted him helping out, but in addition to lightening the load, it was easing some of the tension between Hart, Gwen and Ianto. The former Time Agent wasn’t one to push his luck, though. He was only going out on field calls with Miranda or Jack.

“Just like old times,” Hart said, smiling. He ran his hand lovingly over the SUV’s steering wheel.

“Does Jack finally crash the SUV?” she asked, arching her eyebrow at him. She didn’t wait for an answer. “Well, it was only a matter of time.”

Hart let out a snort that Miranda swore was a failed attempt at stifling a laugh. She couldn’t tell if it was a confirmation of her assumption or not.

“I’m glad you finally learned how to drive,” Miranda said, also smiling wide.

“Joe taught me. Jack offered but Joe said he didn’t want me learning to break every traffic law in existence and endanger pedestrians and stray cats everywhere.”

Miranda laughed as they turned the corner onto Charles Street and approached the cathedral. Hart may have said Jack didn’t teach him how to drive, but he certainly drove a lot like Jack. She was grateful it was later and there were few people on the road. He hopped the pavement and parked. “Shall we, love?”

He got out of the SUV and started scanning for the spike. He pointed to the front steps of the church. “Over there, Dollface.”

There was a shadow of something on the steps. The two of them approached cautiously. Hart had his gun out and pointed at the ground while Miranda had only unsnapped the holster. He allowed her to stand in front of him. She approached the item first, kneeling next to it. It was egg shaped and had grooves etched deep, dividing it into four quadrants. It was about the size of a rugby ball, and disturbingly, standing on end.

“That’s interesting,” she said as she put on the protective gloves. “Fish will enjoy taking it apart.”

Hart hadn’t been paying attention to the device. While Miranda had examined the item, he’d been looking around, ensuring it was the only thing that had come through as was their standard procedure. Finished with that task, he turned around. His eyes went wide.

“Back up towards me, Dollface,” he warned. He had his arm stretched out towards her and was reaching out to her.

“What? Why?”

As per the Warder’s Orders, as an immortal of the Game, Miranda was to play human shield regardless of the dangers. There was no reason she should step away, even if the item was dangerous. Lover or not, it was her job to protect Hart.

“It might have a proximity sensor. Don’t move any closer to it and back away from it, now!”

Since he seemed to know what ‘it’ was and she didn’t, she obeyed the command. When he reached out, he took her arm and dragged her back towards him. Once they were a fair distance from it, Hart visibly relaxed.

“What is it?” she asked.

“It’s a rift manipulator. Looks like it’s from my century, or not too far off,” he said. He took out his pocket torch and pointed the beam in the artefact’s direction. “Doesn’t look black market either… Strange… That sort of technology is very specific - proprietary even. It’s in really good condition. That looks straight off the bloody shelf.”

“Maybe it slipped through from its place of manufacture,” she suggested. “Fish will really want to take that thing apart. It probably could improve the rift monitoring systems a hundred fold.”

“No, you don’t understand. It’s not something Joe can use. It’s not a sensor, it’s meant to…” Hart trailed off. He tilted his head, listening.

“Jon?” she asked.

He held a finger up to his mouth and said, quietly, “It’s beeping. It could be activating.”

“I don’t hear anything,” she said. She furrowed her brow, also listening.

“Probably above your range,” he replied. He took a step towards the device and said, “I need to deactivate it.”

She reached out for his hand but he shook her off. “It’s not dangerous is it? Can it wait until we get back?”

Hart visibly winced. The sound Miranda couldn’t hear was getting louder and louder. She might not be able to hear the whine but the egg began to spin. The sound of several barking dogs echoed through the night. Miranda tried to pull Hart behind her but with one hand clamped over one of his ears he said, “No! It’s not dangerous. Hold it!”

Miranda dropped to her knees and grabbed it, holding firm. He started digging his fingers into one of the grooves. Suddenly, a deafening whine came crashing down, flooding her ears with pain. She let out a startled cry and nearly dropped the device. She slammed her head to the side, crushing one of her ears against her shoulder. It was like the sound of a camera flash charging at a completely deafening volume.

“Oh no!” Hart shouted. He started grabbed the device from her and started slamming it against the ground. “NO!”

She didn’t think it was possible but the whine was getting louder. Hart’s violence paid off. A piece of the casing popped off. He managed to get inside with his fingers. Miranda thought her ears were going to start to bleed from the sound. Suddenly it stopped. She took a few deep breaths, rubbing at her ears.

“You did it!”

“No, the sound’s back out of your range!” He was shouting at her, raising his voice over the deafening noise she couldn’t hear anymore. The pain was still on his face. It was so shrill and so loud, he hoped there wouldn’t be permanent damage to his hearing. Again, desperation took over and he started slamming the device into the pavement a second time. “C’mon you piece of shite…”

Suddenly, a flash of neon blue light burst from the device. It extended outwards like a great ring of light that expanded up into the dark sky. When it passed over Miranda, it felt like a blast of scorching air from opening a hot oven. As quickly as it appeared, it vanished.

She shivered and looked around. Nervously, she asked, “Jon?”

“This isn’t good,” he said. He lifted his arm as if to open his vortex manipulator. He swore under his breath, realising it wasn’t there anymore. “It’s likely destabilised the rift - like dropping one of those mint candies into a bottle of diet soda.”

“What does that mean for us?”

“It means there’s going to be a lot of things here that shouldn’t be here,” he said, angrily. He tapped his comm unit and said, “Joe? It’s John… Just shut up for a second and listen to me. I know you’re not at the Hub and I’m sorry if I’m interrupting Henry’s reach around but the rift equipment’s going to be going haywire. We’re in for a major rift storm. Wake everyone up. Everyone… Yeah, the proverbial shit is going to hit the proverbial fan any minute now…”

He heard Fish answering but he wasn’t paying attention. The two of them snapped their heads up at the unmistakable sound of an RTA. Further up the road, two cars had collided so they could avoid… a pterodactyl? At first, Miranda was afraid it was going to fly away but one of its wings had been injured. She couldn’t tell if coming through the rift had caused its injury or one of the cars.

“Like that?” she asked and ran towards the SUV.

“Yeah… We’ll check in later…” he said and then tapped his comm unit severing the connection.

“Do you have the dinosaur net?” he shouted, following her.

“Yes,” she answered. She pulled the net out of the back and handed Hart the other end.

“Dark chocolate?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I… I ate the bar Ianto leaves in the SUV.”

“I won’t tell on you,” he said, smiling. He pulled out the large syringe. “Just in case.”

“Ready?”

“Always, Dollface,” he said, pecking her on the cheek.

The two of them approached the wounded dinosaur with caution. It was waddling as fast as it could down the street, dragging its clearly broken wing behind it. The two drivers were too busy arguing with each other to notice. The dinosaur stopped the minute it saw them, backing up slowly towards a parked car.

“It’s all right,” she said. “We’re not going to hurt you. Would you like a friend? I have a lovely friend for you to meet.”

“That’s right, love, come to papa,” Hart said, smiling. He crouched down, trying to appear small and non-threatening. He didn’t look at her as he said, “Bloody pigeon at the Hub never liked me. This one isn't going to either.”

She whispered back at him, “Myfanwy doesn’t like anyone except Ianto.” _Or Cameron…_

He muttered, “Distract it.”

With no clear idea of how to do that without ended up dead and unable to protect him, she cleared her throat and just kept talking. She felt like a complete idiot.

“Yes, a wonderful new friend for you. Her name is Myfanwy. She’s got lovely wings and a beautiful beak. She loves mutton and enjoys long, quiet flights at night.”

He gave her an annoyed look and she shot him a look of equal annoyance that said, _‘Well what the fuck do you expect me to do?!’_

She took another step forward, inching to her left to drive her closer to Hart. “She’s really quite lovely. You’ll like her. She’ll be good for your oxytocin levels… if you have oxytocin levels…”

The dinosaur looked at her with suspicion. Miranda reached into her belt, slowly, for one of the small blades. She flashed it, catching the street lamp’s light with it and then tossed it down to her left. When the dinosaur turned its head to look, Hart threw the net over it. Miranda rushed forward and used the restraining technique the team used on Myfanwy for her annual check up. As if the pterosaur were a farm chicken, she grabbed the wings close to their base, pinning them to each other, behind the back. She felt badly that the broken wing was flapping madly as the dinosaur tried to escape.

“Jon! The sedative!” she shouted.

He came around, burying the needle into its leg. It only took a few seconds but it stopped struggling and fell over.

“Well, thank the Twins for that,” he said, wiping his brow.

“Now that it’s out, I can rig a splint for that wing,” she said, sitting back on the curb.

No sooner had the relief began to take hold than they heard the sound of a plane overhead. There was smoke billowing from one of its engines.

“Is that a biplane?” he asked.

“An Albatros…” she said, in wonder. “It’s going down.”

“I guess we know where we’re going next,” he said, grabbing the net. “Give me a hand, Dollface. She’ll be out for hours. It’ll give us enough time to deal with fly boy over there!”

They felt badly for leaving it injured while they saw to something else, but Hart was right. It would be out for hours. Miranda would dress its wounds and set its wing in the back of the SUV as best she could. As they half carried, half dragged the dinosaur back to the SUV, they didn’t notice someone watching them from the shadows. That someone’s lips curled upward with a knowing smile and whispered, “Gotcha.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

From the moment that device went off, it was non-stop bedlam. There was rift alert, after rift alert, around the clock. In fact, none of them could remember it ever being this bad. Even Jack. They all scarcely slept and ate when they could, often testing the limits of how long food should be left at room temperature and still be safe to consume. By the end of the first day, they were all exhausted and running on empty. By the second, Jack started a sleep rota and he and Fish had developed a makeshift priority system for the rift alerts so they were only seeing to the ones most likely to have dropped something through. It was now the third day and Jack had promised all of them that if it didn’t calm down by the morning, he would call in UNIT to help.

It was nearly half three in the morning when Fish and Henry arrived at the scene or their fourth rift alert in the past two hours. Even though they had strict orders to never go on field calls alone together, when things got this bad the rules became more like guidelines. Fish rubbed at his eyes. He desperately needed a power nap. He was ready to drop though so was everyone else. _I’m getting too old for this…_

He pulled into the car park beneath a large high rise. He tapped out a text as quickly as possible to let Jack know where he and Henry were. He reached over and shook his husband’s shoulder.

“Henry?”

The immortal man woke with a start. He rubbed at his eyes, blinking around at the sodium lights. He almost immediately started to drop off again but Fish shook him again.

“Sorry. We’re here,” he said, reaching into his pocket for his PDA.

Henry rubbed at his eyes, hard and said, “I will drive for the next one so you may rest.”

Fish nodded and got out of the car, yawning. He kept telling himself that all he had to do was make it to morning, when his and Henry’s sleep shift began. _You can make it a few more hours…_ he told himself. And then Jack would be ringing UNIT and the cavalry would be here. It wounded Jack’s pride but at this point, none of that gave a shit, including Jack. They were all too tired and too worn out and there seemed to be no light at the end of the tunnel... _or if it was it's an oncoming train._

He and Henry began searching the area, wandering up and down between the rows of parked cars with their scanners in hand. They narrowed the area to one of the parked cars. He and Henry began searching, looking around and underneath the car but found nothing but oil stains. Fish cupped his hands, looking into the windows as he squinted his eyes. He didn’t see anything but he needed to be thorough.

“Do you want me to retrieve your tools?” Henry asked.

“Please,” he answered. _Cat nap…_ He walked over to the wall, leaned against it and closed his eyes.

He must have dozed off a little because the next thing he felt was Henry’s hand on his arm. He wasn’t surprised it had felt as if Henry hadn’t been gone at all. All day, he’d been having little snips of time loss like that every time he closed his eyes. _Probably shouldn’t be driving…_

He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a shiver. He hadn’t been this sleep deprived in a long time. Usually, mild sleep deprivation gave him a slight headache. But he was at the point where the headache had given way to queasiness and an odd chill in his bones.

Henry handed him his tools with a smile on his face. Though his eyes looked a little bloodshot, there was no trace of the dark circles Fish had underneath his. He wasn’t sure if the lack of dark circles was a factor of Henry’s immortality or his physical youth. His husband just looked much more lucid. But Henry was physically seventeen years old, not middle aged like Fish was. When Fish had been Henry’s physical age, he’d been doing his undergraduate work at MIT. He remembered, not without a little bit of awe in his current state, how his final exams had required every moment of this attention. He’d easily pulled all nighters - sometimes two in a row - and still had been able to lucid enough to take all of his exams.

“Thanks,” he said, groggily. He patted his back pocket, ensuring his Torchwood credentials were there. It wouldn’t do to be arrested for attempted auto theft. When he got back to the car, he shoved the plastic wedge into the door and used the heel of his hand to drive it in. He slid the long tool in past the weather stripping and lifted the lock.

“Where did you learn that, Joe? Is there some history of juvenile delinquency of which you have kept me ignorant?” Henry asked, genuinely curious. He flashed Fish a tired version of the bemused expression that he loved so much.

As tired as Fish was, that expression warmed him the way it always did. He let out a tired laugh and said, “I didn’t used to nick cars, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Henry let out a laugh of his own that was just as tired.

“Perhaps you shall educate me,” he said.

“You should ask Ianto. He taught me. Don't tell him I said, but I think he used to nick cars,” Fish said.

He opened the door and the car’s alarm immediately began to blare. He leaned in, his head beneath the steering column. He removed a few wires and spliced others together and the alarm stopped. “Actually, I did nick a car once.”

“Oh?” Henry asked, with keen interest.

“You know how parking in Boston isn’t exactly easy.”

Henry nodded.

“Well, one time I visited this mate of mine who had an off campus flat. I bloody got towed.” While he spoke, he searched the interior around the driver’s seat. He didn’t see anything out of place. The car was a bit of a mess but that was all. He opened the glove box. “These tow companies would charge you a lot to get your car back. I didn’t have the money and the longer you left your car with them, the more they charged you. So… I stole my own car back but I don’t think that counts as actually nicking a car. Don’t think you can actually nick your own bloody car.”

At that, Henry laughed. He leaned down to peer under the passenger seat. “I like that story better than a history of juvenile auto theft.”

“I never got into any trouble when I was a kid. Now that I’m staring down the barrel at fifty, I kind of wish I had,” he said, sighing. “I’m a prime candidate for a mid-life crisis if I had the bloody time for one. That’s what Anna asked me when I told her about you. Like going bender was my version of a posh sports car.”

Henry barked out a laugh at his sister-in-law’s ridiculous sense of humour.

“Bugger,” he said, jamming his finger into his mouth. He cut it on the track for the seat when he reached underneath it. After shaking out his hand, he said, “I got lucky the company that had my car didn’t keep very good records. I was on edge for weeks afterwards thinking they’d send the police after me.”

Fish pushed the driver seat forward and began searching the back. That was when he saw what they were looking for.

“Jackpot,” he said.

It was a small flat piece of metal with symbols imprinted on the front. The symbols were in no language Fish had even seen. He scanned it. It was bursting with rift energy.

“Perhaps you should step back, Joe,” Henry said as he put on the protective gloves. He reached out for the item but couldn’t lift it. He tried to get his fingers under it but that small bit of metal was fucking heavy! “What the devil…”

“What’s wrong?”

“It is absurdly heavy for something so small,” Henry said, frowning. He got out of the car and pushed the passenger seat forward to slip into the back. “Get the containment box ready, Joe. If you wouldn’t mind putting it as close as possible? I do not know how long I will be able to hold it.”

Fish opened the empty box and set it on the floor of the car on top of some papers and random strewn napkins. It took Henry a few minutes but he managed to get his fingers underneath it. The thing was no bigger than a playing card but Henry had to lift it out with both hands. He dumped it into the small containment box with a grunt and sharp metallic bang. The whole car dipped when it hit the bottom.

“Good Lord,” Henry said, with a sigh. He flexed his fingers.

Fish tried to lift the containment box by its handles. Normally the boxes were light but with the metal inside of it, it felt like it weighed a tonne.

“Holy shit!” he said, trying to get the box out of the car. There was no way he’d be able to get this thing out by himself. “Come round and give me a hand, Henry. Bloody ridiculous…”

While they lugged the box back to Fish’s car, they found themselves having to stop… several times. The handles of the box were digging into their hands and the thing was just plain fucking heavy. Fish opened the box so he could look at the symbols while they caught their breath. If he weren’t so tired, he would’ve found the whole thing comical. “Interesting symbols. They look familiar.”

“They’re like nothing I have ever seen before,” Henry said, peering over. He was flexing his hands to rid them of their soreness.

“It reminds me of bullion,” Fish said.

Henry raised his eyebrows, standing up. He stood up and arched his back, stretching. “A distinct possibility. It would explain-”

Instead of completing his sentence, Henry let out a rush of air. Fish looked up to see what the gasp was about and he let out a startled shout at the sight. Henry was arched up, a knife point poking out from his chest. There was a hand fisted in his hair. With a gurgled cry, Henry’s arms flailed backwards. He tried to shout for Fish to flee but couldn’t. Fish felt his heart convulse as the light left Henry’s eyes. There was nothing he could do. He turned and bolted, abandoning his husband. He ducked between two cars and took out his mobile. He activated the GPS and sent a text to Jack telling him Henry was dead and that he needed immediate assistance.

His first thought was that Henry had been ambushed by a challenger but his attacker had caught him completely off guard, in mid-sentence. If the assailant had been an immortal of the Game, he or she would never have been able to sneak up on him. Now that he was getting a good look, whoever had stabbed his husband certainly wasn’t from anywhere around here. She looked human from the waist up. From the waist down was a different story. She had a long tail and strange, backwards legs. They were like those of an ostrich with the same odd feet. There was also something odd about how she carried herself. Her clothes didn’t help. She was dressed in a kind of one piece suit with long bell sleeves and flared trouser legs. While the sleeves and legs were billowy, the part around her torso was tight fitting. She was about his height and very thin.

He had no idea why but something about the alien said female to him even though she lacked the normal things a human would use to identify a female. There were no curves on her torso at all - no widening of the hips or narrowing of the waist, nor were there any breasts. It was almost as if someone had elongated a child. Her neck was ridiculously long but her head was small. Fish guessed it was the extremely gracile and lithe figure as well as the long neck.

He watched as she peered into the containment box, then shut it, uninterested in its contents. She rolled Henry’s corpse, digging through his pockets. She tossed aside his wallet and sword as well as the mobile and PDA. The whole thing seemed to bore her. She looked around and let out a low whistle. At least, Fish thought it was a whistle. It was a peculiar warbling sound that was harsh to his ears.

He knew she had no idea where he was so he backed up and slowly made his way over a few more cars. He might be able to make it all the way to the exit undetected. He crouched down, slowly and quietly making his way around the cars. He felt guilty for abandoning his husband but the alien wouldn’t know she hadn’t killed him. Henry would revive and would be fine. What would truly kill Henry was if Fish were hurt or killed while he was incapacitated. So he did what he needed to do to protect himself.

Moving so slowly between the parked cars was rough on his knee. It wasn’t long before the offended joint was screaming at him. But he kept moving as slowly and silently as possible. He looked around constantly for the alien, peeking through windows and glancing at the reflections in the shiny cars’ paint. A few times, he ducked low to peek underneath the cars, looking for the odd bird-like feet. He heard the whistling again and he nearly gasped in surprise. _Fuck! That was close!_

He stopped, backing himself into a concrete corner. He sat back on his heels, trying to make himself as small as possible. Maybe he could hide here and wait her out. He closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing and calm his pounding heart.

“I thought you’d be taller,” a high pitched voice said.

Fish snapped his head up and the last thing he saw before blacking out was a stinger at the end of the alien’s tail coming straight for him.

 


	11. Chapter 11

Henry gasped to life and rolled. Instinctively, he tried to crawl away. He grabbed and clawed at the ground before he coughed and collapsed. He was chilled to the bone and shivering uncontrollably. As the confusion of reviving began to face, he realized, _Exsanguination…_ His very next thought caused panic.

_Joe?!_

He opened his mouth, trying to call out his husband’s name but no sound was coming out. He coughed and hacked and cleared his throat. In between, he tried calling out Fish’s name. He tried to sit up but ended up collapsing back down. His arms and legs felt weak and overused. Desperation rose up in him. Where was Fish? Was he injured? Killed? Henry tried to calm the panic rising up. If he was going to find his husband, he had to remain calm and clear headed. The next few minutes felt like hours as he tried to beat back the thoughts that Fish was laying injured and dying while he was unable to move. Finally, he managed to roll over onto his side.

“Joe…” he croaked. “Joe…”

The effort sparked another coughing fit. He managed to push himself up onto all fours. No simple stabbing would’ve done this to him. It reminded him vividly of his first death from poisoning. He swept the thought away. It was moot. He raised his head and shouted, “JOE!?”

There was no answer except his own echoing voice. The thoughts crept back. Was Fish injured? Was he bleeding to death? Had Henry’s incapacitation cost him valuable minutes? He reached into his pocket for his mobile telephone but his pockets were empty. _A robbery?_ he wondered, in confusion. He dragged himself to his feet. Unsteady, he started turning in place, looking around for some evidence of his husband.

“JOE?!”

Frustrated, he saw the pool of his own blood and the strange tracks leading out of it. _Not a robbery…_ He began to follow the alien tracks. The idea it was some alien managed to calm Henry’s suspicions slightly. Perhaps it had been fear and not intentional murder? Perhaps the alien had wrongly attempted to defend itself and then fled, leaving his husband unharmed? _Then why does he not answer?_ The fear twisted his gut again and he began following the alien tracks. Eventually, they ran dry but he continued in their general direction. He found nothing but more parked cars.

“JOE!?” he called out again.

He got down on all fours and put his head to the ground, looking underneath all the cars. That was when he saw his mobile near his wallet and sword. He picked up his things and dialled Fish’s number. He heard the ringtone echo up through the car park and took off running in its direction with his heart hammering in his chest. _Please…_ he prayed.

With his limbs still weak and fuelled mostly by desperation, he stumbled once or twice as he ran towards the sound. It got louder and he saw the phone laying in the middle of the ground. He looked but couldn’t see his husband anywhere.

“JOE?!”

Again, there was no answer. Henry picked up Fish’s mobile and put it into his pocket. There was a drop of blood next to it. Then another. And another. A small smear. A line of droplets. His breath came in small, pained sips. He swallowed the lump in his throat as tears began to well in his eyes and the world began to fall out from beneath him. He followed the trail slowly at first but then faster as he grew more frantic. He saw another smudge and more drops as he followed the trail towards a parked car.

“Joe…” he said, quietly. He almost didn’t want to look, fearful of what he would find. When the corner came into view, there was nothing there. The trail of blood ended. There was nothing but a puddle of blood that was barely more substantial than the other drips.

He let out a howl of frustration and anguish. He pounded his fists against the parked car next to him. No sooner had the car’s alarm begun blaring than the SUV pulled up next to him, the horn shouting. A pressure blossomed between his temples.

Henry turned and cried, “Joe is missing!”

“We know, get in,” Jack said as Gwen threw the door open.

Henry climbed into the back with Ianto. “There’s a containment box the next level down. Where are Mao-Lin and Captain Hart?”

“Dealing with a riftugee across town,” Jack explained as he drove.

“They might be a while. That World War I German pilot’s quite cross he’s in Britain,” Gwen muttered.

Jack said, “Fish called about forty minutes ago, right after you were killed. We tried to get here as soon as we could.”

“We need to find him,” Henry demanded. Now, amongst his friends, he didn’t bother concealing his distress. He reached forward, shaking Jack’s shoulder with an iron grip. “Jack!”

“Calm down, Henry. He’s alive and we know where he is.”

“How?”

Ianto held up his PDA. “His subcutaneous tracker.”

“It’s still transmitting. We can find him. He’s traveling east towards London,” Gwen said. She pointed ahead. “There’s the box, Jack.”

She moved to get out of the car but Henry stopped her. “We’ll get it, my dear. It’s obscenely heavy.”

Gwen started to bristle but Henry said, “If we herniate or slip a disc, we shall heal.”

She nodded and the two immortals got out of the SUV and loaded the box into the back with several grunts a piece. The minute it was in the boot, they took off.

“Which way, Yan? Can you show me on your phone’s map?” Jack asked.

“Eastern Avenue,” Ianto said, leaning in between the front seats. He held up his phone so Jack could see it. “You could set the GPS.”

“I would… if someone hadn’t set the language to Welsh,” Jack said, without taking his eyes off the road. “I wonder who that could’ve been?”

Ianto sat back in his seat. He had an overly innocent look on his face as he stared down at his PDA. He spread his fingers, enlarging the map. “It’s stopped moving.”

“What?” Henry cried, reaching out for the device.

Ianto lifted it out of his reach. When Henry settled back down into his seat, he brought the PDA back in front of him so he could direct Jack properly.

“Calm down, Henry. It says he’s still alive. It’s just stopped going east…” He trailed off and stared down at his screen. He stabbed at it a few times, pinching and twisting his fingers to change the display’s zoom.

Henry didn’t like his friend’s drop off into silence one bit. Nor did he like the barely restrained look of dread in his eyes or the tightening in his jaw and shoulders. Ianto leaned forward and tapped Jack on the shoulder, showing him the PDA and Jack’s foot pressed the pedal down to the floor. The SUV accelerated and Jack’s driving became more insane than usual. Ianto sat back and immediately started frantically tapping out a text message to Miranda.

“Jack? What is the matter?” Henry demanded. “Ianto?”

With his hands gripping the wheel, in a careful and level voice, he replied, “Fish’s locator’s stopped transmitting.” He quickly and loudly added, “It doesn’t mean something’s happened to him, Henry. It just means the transmitter isn’t working anymore.”

Henry didn’t know what to say or do. Despite Jack’s words, he sat there as each fragment of his heart fell away. He sat back in his seat, staring out the window. His grief was too profound for tears or words. He appreciated what Jack was trying to do but it didn’t matter. Henry’s mind leapt to the worst case scenario - that Fish was dead and lost to him forever.

The inside of the SUV was silent. No one spoke. They barely moved. It did nothing to lend credibility to Jack’s assurances that Fish was still alive and well. They pulled up to the transmitter’s last location and started looking around. It was the only lead they had. Not ten minutes after they’d started combing the area, Hart and Miranda arrived to help. Henry just sat in the SUV too distraught to move. He wanted to help but the idea of stumbling upon his husband’s corpse was too much for him.

“Anything?” Jack asked, scanning with his vortex manipulator.

The others replied in the negative as they moved over the area with their PDAs.

“Where was the last location?” Miranda asked, leaning over Ianto’s PDA.

The Welshman took three large steps to the side and then one small step forward. “Right about here.”

“Bit far off the road,” Gwen said, nodding at the busy road behind them.

Hart walked over to them and got down on his hands and knees.

“What are you doing?” Gwen screeched. “He’s not in the bloody grass!”

“No, he’s not,” Hart said. He ran his hands along the dirt and patches of uneven grass. He tossed aside cigarette butts and bottle caps and some things Ianto didn’t even want to identify. “But the transmitter could be.”

Shrugging, they all bent down and began to search. It wasn’t long before Hart said, “Gotcha.”

He sat up, kneeling. He had the small transmitter between his fingers. It was no larger than a grain of rice and Ianto couldn’t believe he’d found it. “Anyone got a torch?”

Jack shined his down onto Hart’s hands as his former partner twisted the transmitter, squinting at it. Seeing everyone gathered around Hart, Henry left the SUV and started walking towards them. Hope grew in his heart. He stood between Miranda and Ianto as Hart spoke.

“It’s not damaged,” Hart said. He saw Henry and said, “It’s just Joe’s transmitter.”

“He could still be alive,” Henry said. His head lifted and he looked around as if Fish were somewhere nearby.

“He is alive, Henry. Someone went through some real trouble to find this and get rid of it even though…” Hart said. He paused, not knowing how to continue tactfully.

“Even though it would have been simpler to kill him,” Henry finished.

“They want him alive,” Gwen said, reassuringly. “Fish could’ve been the point of this all along. The rift device? How busy we’ve been? It’s the perfect distraction and misdirection. But why him?"

Just as they were all about to begin discussing their next move, Jack’s vortex manipulator began to beep.

While Gwen's face filled with dread, Ianto leaned back slightly and pointed at Jack’s vortex manipulator and said, “Woah, that hasn’t beeped since…”

He turned to look at Hart followed by the rest of them, one by one.

Hart held up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, don’t look at me! I’m right here!”

“This version of you is right here,” Jack corrected with a roll of his eyes. “And I’ll remind you that it’s the wrong one.”

Jack opened his vortex manipulator and hit a few buttons. A small image of an alien projected itself.

“Jax, it’s good to see you,” it said, smirking.

“Cassie,” Hart and Jack both groaned simultaneously.

Gwen turned and gave Jack a surprised look. “Your name is Jax?”

He ignored her.

“Yes, it’s me, your old pal. Buddy. Comrade. Mate,” she laughed. “I guess you’ve heard the agency’s shut down. Bummer isn’t it? Downer. Drag. Buzz kill. We’ve all been declared outlaws and under the Temporal Terrorism Act, we’ve been sentenced without trial to summary execution for crimes against the spirit of the Empire. Isn’t that a pickle? A quandary? A rock and a hard place? A sticky situation?”

Gwen wasn’t quite sure whether or not to laugh. She turned to Jack and Hart. “Is everyone from your bloody century completely cracked?”

“Shh!” Hart said.

“But I bet you don’t know the best part, Jax. Torchwood is offering a reward. You see, if I show up with another rogue Time Agent? My death sentence gets commuted.”

“She can’t be stupid enough to believe that!” Hart cried, standing up and brushing off his jeans.

“Shh!” Jack hissed.

“What I’m proposing is a simple trade. Doctor Joseph David Fischer… for you. Why you, Jax? That’s what I’d wonder if I was standing where you are. Well, what goes around comes around. That’s the way the cookie crumbles. It's karma. And payback’s a bitch.” The hologram put one hand on her hip and thrust out the other. “See you soon, lover.”

“Seriously, Jack?!” Ianto said, turning to glare at his husband. “Another psychotic ex?!”

The entire team was glaring at him.

“I'm the other psychotic ex, aren't I?” Hart asked but no one answered.

“I don’t know what she’s talking about,” Jack said, waving at his manipulator. “I never slept with her.”

Everyone was looking at him with disbelief. Jack raised both his hands out in front of him. He declared, “I didn’t! Can we focus please!?”

Hart switched to Ekumen so the others wouldn’t understand him and said to Jack, “If Cassie has him, that’s not good. We have to find him, Jack. You know who he is.”

“She knows too. She can’t kill him. She won’t,” Jack said.

Miranda cleared her throat, loudly. Hart looked up. For a moment, the fifty first century men had forgotten the immortal woman also spoke their futuristic language. A look of alarm flashed on their faces for a split second and then it was gone.

“You’re not considering this, are you?” Gwen asked.

Henry gaped at her.

“I’m sorry, Henry, that’s came out wrong,” she said, and then looked away as she continued. “We need proof of life, Jack. We need to set up the ambush.”

“I know. We’re going to,” Jack said. He crossed over to Henry and put his hands on his shoulders. “We’re going to get him back, Henry. I promise.”

 


	12. Chapter 12

Fish woke with his head throbbing. The pain was everywhere - his forehead, above his ears and even radiating down his neck. Pain was the only thing he was aware of at first. He tried to move but even the smallest attempt sent a wave of nausea through him so he stayed where he was until it started to recede. As the pain in his head dialled down to a dull throb, he became acutely aware of the cold surface he was laying on because it made the chills that came next so much worse. It reminded him vividly of a fever he’d had as a teenager - the first and only time he’d been in MIT’s medical centre. He was violently shivering and felt as if he’d just been plunged into a frozen lake. He clamped his jaw down tight to keep his teeth from chattering.

“It’s just the venom working its way out of your system,” a high pitched voice said. “It’ll pass in a minute or two.”

“Who… where…” he stammered or tried to. The words were incomprehensible. He couldn’t even manage to get half a word out coherently with his jaw spasming.

“Like I said, it’s the venom. I wasn’t sure if it would kill you,” the voice repeated. “I’m glad it didn’t. I need you alive.”

Fish closed his eyes and rode the convulsions out, trying not to let his mind run away with itself. He wasn’t sure how long had passed before he managed to sit up. He felt bruised, sore and stiff. Every joint ached. The air felt damp and he swore he could smell the sea. He started rubbing at his shoulders and neck, examining his prison. It was a solid metal room that was dimly lit. There was a single light bulb in the middle of the ceiling inside of a cage. The door was a hatch style. Am I on a ship? he wondered.

There was a sleeping bag in one corner and a bucket in the other. Resting next to the sleeping bag was a case of bottled water. He craned his neck, trying to see if there was anyone beyond the open hatch door but the hallway was pitch black. All he saw was a pair of bright pink eyes, staring at him.

“Who are you? What do you want with me?” he asked.

The figure stepped forward. It was the same alien woman from the underground car park. He was getting a better look at her now that he wasn’t trying to sneak away from her. The billowy clothing was actually an ivory colour. Fish wondered how she got it on and off. He couldn’t see any seams, buttons or zippers. Given their surroundings, her clothing was unnaturally clean. She was bald with pointed ears. Her skin had a greenish tint to it that made his human mind think she had a sickly appearance. There were only three fingers on her hands and they were thin and spindly looking. His eyes flicked to the leather wrist strap and he swallowed hard. _Time Agent..._ Fish wondered if this had something to do with Jack or Hart. Fish knew what had happened to his predecessor when someone from the fifty first century had paid them a visit.

“What do you want with me?” he asked again.

She didn’t answer him. “If you play nice, follow the rules, colour inside the lines, and walk the straight and narrow, I won’t have to tie you up.”

He raised an eyebrow and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. _Is everyone from the fifty first century completely cracked?_

He decided to push a little. He walked towards her and said, angrily, “Hey! Let me go!”

Her tail shot up and stopped him in his tracks. The stinger slowly unsheathed from the end. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Fish backed away a few steps. “Who are you?”

“I’m Cassie,” she said.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting her to say but it was’t that.

“I’m-”

“Doctor Joseph David Fischer,” she said. She sounded bored.

“What do you want with me?” he asked again. “You know we’re a level five planet.”

“I know,” she said, stepping forward.

Fish found the way her legs moved disturbing. Something about this alien gave him the creeps. “If you know who I am and that we’re a level five planet, you know Torchwood will be looking for me.”

“I know,” she said, grinning. “I’m counting on it.”

Then, she laughed. At least, that’s what he thought she was doing. It was a strange hacking wheeze but it had the rhythm of a laugh so he took it as such. He didn’t like the sound of it at all and not because of its alienness. There was something self satisfying about it. She was pleased and he was positive that didn’t mean anything good for him. While she continued the laugh, she turned and walked out of the room, sealing the hatch behind her. He walked over to it and shouted, “You forgot to leave me food!”

Or maybe she didn’t forget at all, he thought with a shudder. He sighed and turned around.

 _Great… just great…_ This was Fish’s first time as a prisoner and unlike all of Jack’s stories, he didn’t feel like this one was going to end with him getting laid. He pounded his fist against the door once and then twice. He leaned against it, sliding down to the cold floor. As he rubbed at his neck, he realised there was something odd on his skin. Absently, he scratched and was surprised at the flakes of dried blood under his nails. _Oh what the fuck…_ He rubbed, wincing when he came across a small cut.

 _What the… Oh… oh no…_ Dread creeped up over his shoulders. _Oh, shit!_ As the realisation cracked apart, panic threatened to set in. _FUCK!! My fucking tracker!_

Fish stood up and kicked the hatch, pounding at it again with his fists. He rested his forehead against it and let out an angry sigh. She didn’t leave you any food. _Conserve your strength…_ He slid back down against the door and sat there. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself. _No good getting frustrated…_ he told himself. _Head in the game, Fischer. Stay calm… First, inventory._

He stood up and backed into the room, standing in the middle under the light. The very first thing he did was turn out all his pockets. Aside from a few bits of lint, they were empty. No PDA. No mobile. She’d even taken his watch. He was surprised she’d left his wedding ring on his finger. She’d probably done so because she hadn’t been able to get it off. He was grateful for its presence.

With nothing else to do, Fish began examining his surroundings. He didn’t see any cameras, but that didn’t mean anything. She was from the fifty first century. She could be using any number of futuristic devices to monitor him. He needed to act under the assumption that every inch of the room was under some sort of surveillance.

Remembering Jack’s lessons, he began to carefully scrutinise his surroundings. He ran his hands and eyes over every inch of the walls, floor and ceiling that he could reach. He looked at every water bottle, reading each label, examining every safety seal. He shook the bottles, watching the water within. He checked every inch of the sleeping bag and the bucket. Once that was done, he folded the sleeping bag into a sort of seat. Cross-legged, he sat on it with his eyes closed, listening for any sound. As he slowly breathed in and out, he analysed any smells. He even tried to feel for the pitch and rock of water beneath him since he highly suspected he was on a boat of some sort.

With no window or access to the outside, he had no idea how long the highly detailed survey of his cell had taken him but he was physically and emotionally exhausted by the end. This method of dealing with captivity was something Jack had taught him. It was to eat time, occupy the mind and keep it from running away with itself. He was having limited success. He kept thinking of Henry. His husband must be frantic by now. He pushed those thoughts out of his head. Worrying about Henry worrying about him wasn’t going to get him out of here and it would do nothing to help his mental state. He thought about going over the room again as a distraction but he didn’t want to become bored with it too quickly.

The first pass of the room had left him disheartened. He saw absolutely no method of escape. The hatch style door only opened from the outside. The walls were devoid of windows. The only ventilation was a small grate in the ceiling that Fish couldn’t even reach. As of yet, he hadn’t thought of a way to use any of the items left to him for escape. Sure, he could clock Cassie over the head with the bucket but that probably wouldn’t do him any good, especially if she didn't return.

Sitting in the middle of the room, meditating on his surroundings, he’d felt the slight rock. He was in a boat out on the water. But that didn’t narrow things down. The brand of bottled water she’d left him was something he could’ve picked up at any local Tesco but he tried not to use that as a clue. It could’ve been meant to misdirect him. He could be in Cardiff Bay or he could be halfway around the world. Hell, he could be in another time, on a whole other fucking planet for all he knew! And that thought was immediately followed by panic. How would the team find him? How would they get to him? Jack’s vortex manipulator didn’t work and the version of John Hart that was with them didn’t have his anymore. Even if he did manage to knock Cassie out and get a hold of her manipulator, Fish had no idea how to work it and he seriously doubted he’d be able to figure it out on his own.

In the end, his choice was simple. He needed to survive long enough for the others to find him. He had the sleeping bag so he didn’t need to worry about freezing to death even though the room was damp and little chilly. She’d certainly left him enough water. A human being needs about three litres of water to be comfortable but Fish wasn’t concerned with comfort so he decided on a two thirds ration of two litres a day. There was a single case of forty pint sized water bottles. Assuming they were safe to drink and hadn’t been tampered with, they would last him a week and a half. She’d left him no food but he could go a while without it. He’d die from dehydration long before he starved.

_Isn’t that a pleasant thought…_

It was possible Cassie planned to return with food. It was also entirely possible that she didn’t plan to return at all. He could increase his water supply by thirty percent by mixing his own urine into the fresh water to extend it.

 _So not there yet…_ he thought with revulsion. Keep busy, he told himself firmly. He walked over to the water bottles and arranged them into ten rows of four. He was careful to make sure each label was facing the same direction and that the bottles were precisely and evenly spaced. That level of obsessive compulsiveness also helped to occupy his mind and eat up time. Every movement he made was slow and deliberate, designed to eat up as much time as possible.

Once he’d done all of that, he was exhausted. Whether it was mental or physical, he had no idea but he decided to get some sleep. If he slept when he was tired, he’d be able to keep a rough idea of the passage of time. He dragged the sleeping bag as far from the hatch door as possible. He got in and closed his eyes. He would rather have turned away from the light but that would mean turning away from the door. Instead, he laid on his back and threw his arm over his eyes. He may have been exhausted but he was acting hyper vigilant, fighting his fatigue.

He took a deep breath. _Inhale, three, two, one... hold, six, five, four, three, two, one... Exhale, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one..._ He repeated the breathing pattern, exhaling twice as long as he inhaled. He tried to will himself to sleep and calm his nerves. He could hear Jack’s lecture. _Most important thing?_ Jack had said. _Find an anchor for your hope._

That was easy.

The love blossomed in his heart as he remembered the first time he ever saw his husband, carrying his coat over his arm and dragging a case behind him. He remembered the flutter in his chest when Henry had sat down next to him and the strange nerves that crept into his belly. Henry had smiled at him, flirted and Fish had written his mobile number on a cocktail napkin. It was a silly memento that he knew Henry still kept, tucked away in his sketchbook.

He let the happy memories bubble up and flow of their own free will. Their first kiss. Sharing a bed. Joyful days and blissful nights in London and Paris. Long conversations full of laughter and longing after Henry had returned to Canada. As the memories embraced him, he eventually he slept.

 


	13. Chapter 13

“Sun-Cassha-Ruseshesh, daughter of Sun-Casshe-Ruseshesh, two thousandth Keeper of The Scrolls, sixty seventh Wind Whisperer to the East, three hundred and sixty two thousand one hundred and ninety sixth Protector of the Tribe, sixth Sister of the Fourth family and the six hundred and eighty third Sacrifice,” Jack said. His voice dripped with contempt.

Henry raised an eyebrow. “And I thought our royal names were long winded.”

“You don’t want to hear the Royal names. We’d be here all bloody afternoon,” Hart said, rolling his eyes.

“She’s not royalty, Henry,” Jack said, smiling. “It’s just the way the Dromanians name themselves. It has to do with food. Please don’t ask me to explain because I don’t understand it.”

“I can see why she goes with Cassie,” Gwen said.

“Anyway, she joined the Time Agency after us,” Hart said. He looked at Jack and asked, “Was it two classes? three?”

“Two,” Jack confirmed. “Cassie… she was…” He looked at Henry, nervously.

“Please do not censor this briefing for my benefit, Jack,” he insisted.

“Cassie’s a lunatic,” Hart said. He jumped in his chair as Miranda kicked him under the table. “Ow!”

She leaned and whispered, “You could be a little more tactful.”

“That was tactful,” he said, loudly.

“Must be a piece of work for you to be calling her a lunatic,” Gwen said, rolling her eyes.

Jack tossed Gwen a scolding glance. The former PC immediately realised her barb had been equally tactless. She flicked her eyes to Henry for a split second in apology. Then looked down at her lap.

Jack rephrased, “Cassie was a bit of a loose cannon.”

“Well that’s a surprise,” Ianto said, giving Hart and Jack teasing looks. “Is everyone from your century cracked?”

“The agency attracted a certain personality type,” Hart said, defensive. He nodded at Jack’s vortex manipulator. “At graduation, they hand you one of those and it’s basically, ‘Good luck. As always, should you or your partner be caught or killed, the Agency will disavow any knowledge of your actions.’”

The corner of Miranda’s mouth quirked at the pop culture reference. This Hart was far more educated in the times than her version.

Hart continued. “You were on your own most of the time. You needed to survive. You had to think fast, on your feet.” He steepled his fingers in front of his face and Ianto wondered if he was unconsciously mimicking Miranda. “Most of the time that meant creative guile, and deviousness.”

“James Bond with a psychotic streak,” Ianto muttered.

Hart nodded but Jack shrugged. “It required a certain skill set. Not only did the Time Agency attract a certain personality type, but only the most ‘creative’ of us got past the full training. Cassie graduated at the top of her class.”

“And she was one of the best agents out there,” Hart said. There was no mistaking the respect in his voice. “Two commendations in her first year. The Medal for Courageous Defence of the Empire in her third. She rose through the ranks fast. She may’ve graduated two years after us, but she outranked us in no time.”

“But like John said, she wasn’t the most stable of individuals-”

“Lunatic,” Hart muttered.

Jack continued to talk over him, “-and for every commendation she got, she got a proportional reprimand.”

“Yet they continued to promote her?” Henry asked.

Jack nodded. “The Time Agency was very ‘the ends justify the means’ when it came to results.”

“It’s what got them into trouble and why it got shut down. A lot of agents, like Cassie, had been playing it a little too fast and loose. They’d started committing the very same crimes they were supposed to investigate and prevent. Most of it was about money. They’d manipulate the past or used foreknowledge of the future so they could turn a profit. I heard a rumour that Cassie had been one of the most corrupt… but I didn’t buy it.”

Gwen let out a scoff.

“She might be a lunatic, and she may have toed a line, but it was a line we all toed,” Hart said, defensively. “There are acceptable levels of corruption in the fifty first the same way there are acceptable levels in this time.”

Now it was Ianto’s turn to scoff.

“Judge all you want, Eye Candy,” he said, shifting his gaze to Ianto. “The line may have shifted over the past couple thousand years but,” he returned his focus to Gwen, “how many coppers follow procedure to the letter every moment of every single day?”

“None,” she admitted.

Hart could tell the admission burned her but he couldn’t help but toss her a mildly smug look. Before Gwen could toss a barb back at his former partner, Jack cleared his throat.

“Whether or not Cassie was corrupt is moot. Even if she was, she’s not stupid,” Jack said.

“You said that it was unlikely her death sentence would be commuted and that she was being lied to,” Henry said, frowning.

Jack and Hart exchanged an odd look. Hart cleared his throat and said, “When the Time Agency shut down, we were all convicted of crimes against the spirit of the Empire.”

“Is that your time’s equivalent of treason?” Henry asked.

Hart shook his head. “It’s one of those instances where the letter of the law and the spirit of the law differ so much that they’re on opposite sides of the bloody universe.”

“It’s a charge meant for the most serious crimes, but in order to hasten convictions, there are a lot of loopholes written into the process,” Jack said.

“So instead locking the most heinous criminals away quickly, it’s become a quick and easy method to send people to their deaths without benefit of a trial or any kind of due process,” Hart finished. He looked at Jack and said, “The minute I saw the way the wind was blowing… I made like a shepherd and got the flock out of there.”

He turned his attention to the rest of the team. “The easiest escape for us is into the past. It’s the best place to hide.”

Henry’s frown deepened. “Yet you do not believe this deal of which she speaks is genuine?”

Hart and Jack exchanged a brief look and then they both shrugged.

“It’s possible,” Jack said.

“It makes sense that they’re using us against each other. How do they track us down through time without Time Agents? They play to our survival instincts.” Hart pointed at Jack’s manipulator. “They’ve already given us the perfect means. Let us round up each other and then execute us.”

None of the others looked terribly convinced but it was probably because neither Hart nor Jack sounded convinced themselves. Hart switched to Ekumen and turned to Jack. “She’s got the perfect bait to lure you in.”

“What is our plan to retrieve Joe?” Henry asked, irritated at the shift to the incomprehensible language.

Gwen’s eyes went wide for a second. “Cassie’s got a working vortex manipulator. She could take Fish anywhere.”

“Or anywhen,” Miranda muttered.

“Not necessarily, Dollface,” Hart said, shifting in his own seat. “You can’t just go scooping up people from the past and dropping them through time.”

Ianto looked at the two fifty first century men. “The two of you bounce about time like you’re bloody channel surfing.”

Hart looked from Ianto to Jack and quirked his eyebrow. Jack gave him a subtle shake of his head then held up his wrist strap and tapped it. “This thing is pretty safe, but nothing is a hundred percent. There’s a risk involved in every jump made. And while that risk is infinitesimal with one person, it does rise with the number of people you transport. You all know Torchwood is vastly important to the future. Cassie won’t take the risk of teleporting or time traveling with Fish.”

“Which leaves her with traditional, twenty first century methods of transport,” Henry said. His relief was evident. Finding Fish was now within the realm of possibility since they didn’t have to search all of time and space.

“She probably won’t leave Cardiff,” Hart said, leaning forward. He picked at a thread on his jacket sleeve. “Dromanians are humanoid but blending in and passing for a human won’t be easy. Their leg structure is different. She won’t be able to sit in a chair or seat designed for a human which means she can’t drive. She’ll stand out on public transport.”

“We should get a physical description into the computer, let the recognition software have at the CCTV,” Ianto said.

“So Joe is likely still in the city,” Henry said. He drummed his fingers on the table.

“I’d bet money on it,” Jack said.

“We must rescue him. How do we find him without his tracker?” Henry asked.

“I know it feels like we should swoop in and try and save him, Henry, but the easiest thing is to just go through with the exchange,” Jack said. He opened his mouth to continue but they all interrupted him. He held up his hand for silence. “It’s the easiest way.”

“And what do we do once she has you?” Hart said, waving to the side. He waved his left wrist at him. “If she zaps you back to the fifty first, I can’t exactly go chasing after you, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Jack nodded. “We have a problem, people. Let’s brainstorm a solution.”

 


	14. Chapter 14

After Gwen had gone home, Henry had gone downstairs to the staterooms, professing exhaustion. He had neglected all his night duties, but Ianto didn't say a word, deciding to take care of it himself. He also didn't suggested that the Duke go home. He knew exactly how Henry felt. Ianto couldn't stand sleeping in bed alone even when Jack was completely safe. He suspected that Henry was heading downstairs purely for show and that the Duke had absolutely no intention of sleeping. If Ianto were in his place, he probably wouldn't even try. Eventually, he was certain that Henry would fall asleep out of sheer exhaustion. Once he was done with his chores, Ianto would offer the Duke a soothing cup of tea laced with a sedative. The sooner he finished his routine, the sooner he could get Henry to sleep. He wished Miranda still had the valerian extract, to offer Henry a dreamless sleep. Miranda said she'd run out and was unable to get one of the plants used in its manufacture. So, Ianto would settle for a twenty first century benzodiazepine.

When Miranda had first gone away and Ianto had been stretched so thin, Fish had designed a timer and adapted the Hub systems. Now, they automatically switched from day to night mode and back again at sunrise and sunset respectively. In fact, Fish had wondered why such a system hadn’t been in place before. The automated system relieved him of one chore, but there were others that no automatic computer system could handle. Henry kept the Hub impeccable but a lot of the tidying had been neglected while the rift had exploded around them. Settling into his old role of butler was like riding a bike. Once everything was back in its place and at a minimally acceptable level of tidiness, Ianto turned to his last chore – feeding the pterodactyls. Ianto could get away with neglecting a feeding now and again. In fact, Myfanwy did better when he skipped a feeding or two a week but now that she had company and that company was injured, it was even important that there was plenty of food.

There’d been extensive debate about whether or not to even bring the injured animal into the Hub. They didn’t know about the social behaviour of pterodactyls. Myfanwy could be highly territorial and attack. And the team hated to admit it, but she’d been there first and took priority. Ianto and Jack were sentimentality attatched to her. If Myfanwy and the newcomer didn’t get along, there’d be only two options - cryostasis or putting him down. Since they didn’t have a drawer the animal would fit into and no one wanted to kill a creature merely because they had nowhere to put it, they decided to take a chance on an introduction. They’d guessed that it was a male since his skin was more vibrantly coloured and he was smaller than Myfanwy. Ianto had dubbed him Hywel.

Even though Ianto was their current medic, Miranda had more experience caring for the Hub pets as pseudo-veterinarian so he’d bowed out. To everyone’s surprise, Myfanwy had flown down and perched on the metal railing as they’d tended to the new dinosaur. She’d watched with curiosity as Miranda had cleaned and bandaged all of his wounds. She’d set the wing as best she could. There was some concern that Hywel wouldn’t be able to fly properly but only time would tell. Then again, they’d no idea whether or not the dinosaur would be staying.

The first introduction had been cautious but Myfanwy had surprised them all. She’d nudged at her new sedated friend with her beak. Since no attack had seemed imminent, they’d hauled Hywel up to Myfanwy’s nest. Again, they’d been cautious. Just because Myfanwy was tolerating this stranger in the Hub didn’t mean she’d tolerate him in her own nest. Jack had stood by with the dinosaur net and Hart with the tranquilliser darts. Just because Myfanwy was happy to be friends didn’t mean Hywel would feel the same way. If keeping them together would be impossible, then no one had wanted to draw the short straw for what would need to happen next.

They’d stood back as the sedatives had worn off. When Hywel had woken, he looked grateful to be in a comfortable nest with some friendly company. He’d huddled in a corner looking confused but not overly frightened or the least bit aggressive. There’d been some sort of odd beak tapping and some sort of dance-like display from Myfanwy but the two dinosaurs settled down next to each other while Ianto had gone for more bedding. The team had left the two of them alone and had been too busy to check on them again. Leaving them unsupervised had been a significant risk but they'd had no choice. Since there’d been no angry squawks or high pitched screeching, Ianto assumed they were both getting on all right and that they could do with a meal.

As Ianto made his way across the Hub, he nodded at the UNIT soldiers. Since the Hub was his home, having strangers in it always put him out of sorts but this was a necessity. The team needed to focus their efforts on Fish, not chase after the dozens of rift alerts that had been happening daily since the rift bomb had gone off. Once Fish had vanished, he'd phoned Colonel Ashline as soon as possible. The Colonel had sent a team of twelve to handle the rift. He’d also promised as many soldiers and resources as Torchwood needed to recover Fish. Ianto had politely declined the offer but promised that if the need arose, they would take him up on it.

He’d already left a large amount of cat food for Six even though the only evidence of the feline was the clumps of urine and logs of foul smelling faeces he’d cleaned from her litter pan. He also left fresh feathers in the autopsy bay for Dewi but he was at a loss as to what to do for the dinosaurs. He stood over the freezer deciding on a portion size for the pterodactyls. Usually Myfanwy ate an entire side of mutton a day, receiving half in the morning and the other half in the evening. Ianto had no idea how much the injured dinosaur would eat, if anything, but it was better to be safe than sorry and provide more food. He didn’t want a food squabble to ruin the blossoming friendship. So, he grabbed both halves of the split side of mutton and lugged them up to the nest. Jack had offered several times to move the freezer closer to the nest but Ianto preferred to carry the meat up in its frozen state, insisting it was less messy.

When he arrived at the nest, he smiled. Myfanwy had Hywel nestled in the thickest bit of bedding in the far corner and was between him and the nest entrance, almost protectively. Jack had joked about needing pterodactyl birth control. Everyone had laughed but if the two continued to get on this well, it would be a genuine concern. Myfanwy did, on rare occasion, lay eggs and had accepted this male into her nest. The next logical progression was mating and young pterosaurs. It was a concern that would have to wait. Thankfully, the low light inside the Hub affected Myfanwy’s egg laying frequency, the same way it did with modern birds. Hopefully they were safe for a while.

Ianto wasn’t surprised to see the carefully taped bandages strewn across the nest. Thankfully, the dinosaur hadn’t eaten them and had left the splint in place. It looked clean and dry. He did note that a few of the large duct tape tabs Miranda had put onto it were gnawed and would need to be replaced. At least they were serving their purpose - giving the dinosaur something to take his frustration out on besides the carefully placed sling. Ianto tried to move closer to get a better look at the wounds but Myfanwy objected, snapping at him and squawking loudly.

“Woah! Easy, girl!” he said, backing up. She hadn’t done that to him in a long time. He held his hand up. “I’m just-”

She gave him one more snap for good measure and stood in front of her new friend protectively. He reached into the plastic bag for the frozen mutton and the sudden movement earned him another snap.

“Okay! Okay!” he said, backing away.

He reached into his suit jacket pocket and took out the dark chocolate bar. He removed the wrapper and tossed it into the nest, away from the food trough. Myfanwy lumbered over to her treat and Ianto quickly dumped the mutton into the trough, not even bothering to replace the plastic liner as he usually did. Then, he backed away as fast as his legs would carry him. He narrowly avoided her snapping beak again. He’d been immortal for years but he hadn’t lost the instinct to avoid injury. In this case, he didn’t try to repress it. Of course, he would heal from any damage but he didn’t want to think about how painful it would be if he lost part of his hand or a chunk out of his arm.

“Easy, girl! Easy!” he said. “I’m not going to hurt him.”

She gave him a nasty look and then, to his surprise, carried the chocolate over to her new friend to be shared. Then she lumbered to the food trough and broke off a frozen piece of mutton with her beak. She carried the piece over and dropped it next to the chocolate.

“Well, the way to a man’s heart,” he said, with a smile. “You two behave.”

The smile faltered a bit as he wondered if Myfanwy, in all her years in the Hub, had been lonely for company. He hoped she was happier now. His smile widened again as she nudged the food closer to Hywel. He teased, “Easy, girl. Don’t want to appear too eager on the first date.”

Chuckling a little, he descended the ladder. His mood sobered as he shifted back into reality. After discussing it for most of the evening, they’d come up with a rough plan. One would think after all that brainstorming that they would’ve come up with something more creative than simply exchanging Fish for Jack and that the deception would be less obvious. Once Jack was handed over, Hart would “kill” him and then Cassie would have another former Time Agent to chase after. With Hart as bait, they’d lure Cassie in, trap her and lock her in cryostasis for the foreseeable future. It was a shite plan but none of them had been able to come up with anything better. There were still details to hash out but that would have to wait until Cassie answered Jack’s message.

He paused at the top of the stairs. Jack was standing against the metal railing, talking to John Hart. He could hear what they were saying but he didn’t understand. They were speaking the futuristic language that he often heard the two men use when they were alone or when they wanted to speak privately. Ianto assumed it was the latter since they were standing within earshot of the UNIT soldiers.

Even though he couldn’t understand them, he was positive their subject matter was serious. Jack was standing with his arms crossed over his chest but instead of his hands being tucked into his elbows, they were gripping his upper arms. At first glance, Hart looked relaxed with the way he was lazily draping himself against the metal rail but Ianto saw the furrow to his brow and the way tension was creeping his shoulders towards his ears. He remained on the stairs, watching.

“You don’t think she’d disrupt the timeline do you?” Hart asked, frowning.

“Crazy. Not stupid,” Jack said, rolling his eyes.

Hart scratched at his head. “When do you think she’ll answer?”

“Dunno,” he replied, shrugging. “I asked specifically for a historic proof of life.”

“Newspaper picture?”

He nodded. “You know she could still-”

“I know. I don’t think she’d risk disrupting the timeline,” Jack interrupted with a sigh, “but it’s still a risk.”

Hart stayed silent for a few minutes and then said, “You know this is all a complete load of shit, right?”

“I’m not stupid either,” Jack said, rolling his eyes again.

“After everything I heard about her at the Agency? I’m really disappointed. This whole ransoming Joe for you is a smoke screen for something else. It’s not even creative. You resigned before the charges. Your name isn’t on the scroll. I saw it. She’s after something else from you. She has to be. She took the most high value human being on the planet right now and only you or I would know that. The only other person who even comes close is his son, or Gwen or Rhys and you know they drop down once Anwen's born.”

Jack nodded and tucked his chin into his chest. “I know that. You know that. You know we can’t let the others know that without telling them why Fish is important. We need to let it play out,” Jack insisted.

“I don’t like keeping them in the dark. You don’t need to tell them why. You can just tell them he’s important,” Hart replied. “They already know anyway.”

“They know Torchwood is important not Fish specifically or why and they can’t.”

“What about Eye Candy?” Hart asked.

“Drop it. Get over it. The plan will work either way,” he said, sternly. Hart shrugged.

Jack fell silent and didn’t say anything for a minute or two. Finally, he said, “Crimes against the spirit of the Empire?”

“Yeah.”

“No trial?”

“No,” Hart confirmed.

“A full tribunal?”

Hart winced. “Yes.”

Jack also winced. “So, summary execution?”

Hart nodded.

“You could’ve told me.”

“It was moot, Jack. I told you, you’re not on the scroll. There wasn’t a reason to bring it up.” He shrugged and waved at Jack’s non-functional vortex manipulator. “The only thing they have you on is theft of that and with hunting down and executing the rest of us? It’s the last bloody thing on the list.”

“You think I’m worried about me?” Jack said, offended. “Just me being in this time is one thing. But two of us?”

 _Not this again_ … “It wasn’t like that, Jack. Papa didn't just get my death sentence commuted. I got a full acquittal,” Hart admitted. He looked down at his feet, ashamed.

“That’s a lot of strings and lot of bribes in the right places.”

Hart nodded. “It’s not like he doesn’t have the money. You know how he is. It wasn’t about saving my life, it was about saving himself from scandal. And keeping some semblance of my reputation so he could place me somewhere else useful to him. ”

“You still don’t think he’ll come after you?” Jack asked, skeptical. No matter how much Hart said his father wouldn’t pursue his youngest into the past, he knew Joaquin Wixson was a nasty son of a bitch – a sociopathic, sadistic, molester and rapist bent on money and power. Hart had told him quite a few stories that had made him shudder. And as fucked up as Hart was, the man was way more normal than he should be.

“There’s no Time Agency. There’s no place for me in his plans anymore. Anyway, I won’t go back. I won’t leave her.” He looked down at his boots then towards the bunker. “I’d rather die.”

“You’ve changed a lot,” Jack said.

“Eye Candy said the same thing,” Hart replied, smiling. “Bad?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t say that.” He took a deep breath and added, cautiously, “Listen, I know you shouldn’t tell me… and I know I should’ve asked sooner because you’ve been doing rift calls… but if you’re going to be helping us out, I need to know when you’re from… just in case…”

“Just in case I get killed so you’ll know how long to freeze my body for,” he finished.

Jack closed his eyes, bowed his head and nodded. Hart quietly told Jack the date from which he’d travelled. Then the two friends fell into an awkward silence.

Ianto stayed back, watching the entire incomprehensible exchange. When they both finally fell silent, he waited a few moments to see if they would start up again but they didn’t. He loudly walked across to them. Both of their heads snapped up. Ianto walked over and leaned into Jack, kissing him lightly on the cheek. He slid his arm around Jack's waist, and pulled Jack closer to him and away from Hart. Hart wasn't sure if it was a conscious move or not. He smirked at the territory marking, such as it was.

“I was just checking on Myfanwy and Hywel,” he announced.

“Oh? How are they?” Hart asked with a knowing smile and an overly innocent tone.

Ianto resisted the temptation to roll his eyes when he realised the source of Hart’s facetiousness. Of course he’d known the two pterodactyls would get along, he was from the future.

“They’re the perfect couple,” Ianto said then smirked, “but you already knew that.”

“Timelines must be protected, Eye Candy, even the smaller ones.” He straightened and then stretched. His back popped in two places as he said, “I’m going to turn in. Night, Jack… Eye Candy.”

“Captain,” Ianto said, nodding.

“Night, John.”

Hart walked away, giving the couple a small smile as he passed. He nodded at the UNIT soldiers as he headed for the bunker. He pulled up the hatch and slid down the ladder. When he got to the bottom, he said, “Sorry, Dollface. I got distracted talking to Jack.”

Miranda was sitting up in bed, nude. The bedsheets were pulled up under her arms and she was reading a book.

“About the plan?” she asked.

Hart shook his head. He let out a deep sigh. “He’s worried my bastard of a father will hunt me down and the team will get caught in the crossfire.” He shrugged out of his red jacket and hung it on a hanger, then sat down on the bed to begin unlacing his boots. “The man hasn’t bothered yet.”

She slipped a piece of paper into the book and put it on the bedside table. “Honestly, Jon, I share Jack’s concern. From what little you’ve told me, your father sounds like a vicious man, used to getting what he wants.”

He shrugged. “I can’t tell you how long, obviously, but I go through my entire timeline without so much as a blip.”

“Time travel makes that irrelevant,” she pointed out.

He stood up and continued undressing. Miranda noted the numerous scars criss-crossing his body. There were more than she remembered but some were familiar territory. He tossed his t-shirt at her and she brought the warm cloth to her nose.

“Ah, but the longer I spend, linearly, in this time, the less likely he’ll appear,” he said and then smirked. “And if he hasn’t come after me yet? He won’t. Not after what I did.”

“What did you do?” she asked, genuinely curious. “Or can you not tell me?”

He shrugged. “I don’t see what harm it will do. And come to think of it, I don’t remember ever telling you before.” He unfastened his jeans and slid them off his hips. Stepping out of the pool of denim, he held up his hand, wiggling his ring at her. “Do you know what this is?”

“Your wedding ring?” she said, brightly.

He smiled and nodded. “The planet I’m from is a human colony. The natives were more than happy to let us have their planet since their species was dying off. They taught the original colonists everything about the planet and themselves.” He wiggled the ring again. “One thing they showed us was how to mine this. It’s a special kind of gold that’s psychic.”

“Psychic?” she said, skeptical.

He said, smiling, “The ring warms when one partner thinks of the other.”

Her eyes went wide. She reached out for his hand but he stopped her. “It’s cool now because you don’t have yours yet. I don’t like it.” He twisted the ring on his finger. “Anyway, the stuff is bloody expensive. The metal is so rare that two of these rings will cost you as much as a posh London flat.”

Miranda’s eyebrows shot up and then the pieces slotted together in her head. “I take it the Time Agency doesn’t pay that well?”

Hart scoffed. “No it doesn’t. My father stole most of my salary anyway. Papa is all about appearances. To everyone else, he presents the image of the ‘poor rich man’ – the widower, forced to raise six wayward, spoiled children. He loves the ‘woe is me’ angle that he’s on his own after his disturbed wife spiralled into a life of drinking and drugs that culminated in a very public suicide.”

“But that wasn’t the way of it,” she said, flatly.

He shook his head. “No. It wasn’t. My father took our money because it kept us under his control. My mother… he stole her children, destroyed her spirit, kept her drugged so she couldn’t leave and then she finally managed to find the only escape she could.” He finished undressing and climbed into his side of the bed but instead of laying back against the pillows, he crossed his legs and faced her. “When I was nine, she threw herself off the balcony.”

“I’m sorry.”

He gave her a sad smile. He didn’t tell her that he’d been the one who’d bypassed the door’s security so it would open for her. He also didn’t tell her that his mother had thanked him for it. Right before she’d jumped had been the first and last time he’d seen her smile. He shook his head, clearing the memory.

“Anyway,” he wiggled his finger again, “I paid for these with what I stole from him.”

He wished he could say that choosing Miranda was the easiest decision of his life, but it wasn’t. After he’d abandoned her, he’d wandered for a few months, hopping from planet to planet and century to century. He went back to running cons. He played it fast and loose. He'd tried to scrub Miranda's face from his mind with booze and drugs and warm bodies - willing or bought.

Eventually, he’d landed on some pleasure planet and bought a whore. Her hair had been teal but her almond shaped eyes had been the colour of honey. He could barely remember her but he reminded him of Miranda enough. When he'd finally come inside her, it had been Miranda's name on his lips. In his drug laden state, he’d hallucinated. He thought he’d heard her whisper to him with a sad, hollow voice… _I love you, Jon…_ He’d passed out shortly after and she hadn’t been there when he’d woken with a colossal hangover.

That had been his rock bottom. He was never going to be able to forget her, and if he carried on like this, he'd end up as dead his brother, Een. And there was no fucking way he wanted to die without ever seeing her again. If he left, he could never go back and when Hart decided to do something, he did it with gusto. He decided to burn every fifty first century bridge he had. He’d started with his prick of a father.

Miranda’s eyes widened and then narrowed. “I can see why Jack thinks he’ll come after you.”

“My sister, Judi, too,” he said with heartache. “In the future, as the major law enforcement body of the Empire, Torchwood controls everything - including financial bodies. She worked in the finance regulation department as a data cruncher.”

“And she helped you.”

He nodded. He’d shown up at his sister's flat, desperately banging on her door at the crack of dawn. “I couldn’t have done it without her and Papa would know that. So I bought a single use time travel device just like the one I used to come here and gave it to her as a panic button.”

“And in all the time you’ve been here, she hasn’t shown up,” Miranda supplied.

“If she was in trouble, she would’ve used it,” He paled slightly. He'd defied his father only once before like this. He’d been twelve and had tried to run away with a few stolen trinkets. His father had found him and dragged him home, exacting his punishment. Afterwards, Hart had shit blood for days and hadn’t been able to sit nor walk properly for weeks. It had taken him months before he’d stopped waking up screaming. His sister had gotten him through it. She’d held him while he’d cried and soothed the nightmares. When she’d thought he’d done enough wallowing, she’d told him never to disobey again. _You know how this works, Jon! He says jump and we all get froggy! That’s how we survive._ But she had helped him even though she knew it wouldn’t be just a few fingers off her hand this time. “Papa’s punishments can be… creative.”

“She didn’t want to come with you?”

“No,” he let out a deep sigh. He’d begged and pleaded with her to come with him but she’d flat out refused. And he couldn’t stay. He let out a small, sad exhale of breath that was nearly a sigh. “Living in the past is difficult, Dollface. Jack and I do it but… we’re Time Agents. Being stranded in the past is something every Time Agent is trained for.” He hesitated but continued, “It’s drilled into us as a worst case scenario or a last resort. Not only is it dangerous to the time stream but it’s… unnatural. We’re highly encouraged to consider suicide as an alternative to living in the past.”

She understood that. Being out of time was straining. John Ellis didn’t sit in a running car because being tossed through time was easy. The suicide rate amongst time displaced riftugees was very high.

“You miss her,” she said, softly. This time she reached out for his hand and took it in hers. He shifted, sitting next to her so he could hold her close.

“I do. Judi always kept an eye out for me and Een even though Een was older than her.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “Since Judi hasn’t used the panic button, Papa’s punishment couldn’t have been as drastic as I was afraid it’d be. And if he didn’t go after her with a vengeance in the fifty first, he’s certainly not going to bother me in the twenty first.”

“I see your point.”

“Jack doesn’t,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“It’s his job to think about it that way,” she said, squeezing him close. “Either way, we have more important things right now. One bridge at a time.”

He nodded.

“I don’t suppose you can tell me whether or not this all works out?” she asked.

He remained perfectly still. He didn’t tense nor relax. He didn’t shift or fidget. Even his breathing remained exactly the same so that she gleaned nothing from him.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked,” she said.

He smiled. “It’s all right, Dollface. You have questions. I wish I could answer them but I can't.”

She reached over, lacing her fingers with his. She let her finger run along the gold band. “Just you being here tells me more than you think.”

“That I ask and you say yes?” he said, looking down at her. “Ah, but you don’t know when or how.”

“That’s all right. Some things should remain a mystery,” she said. She climbed on top of him, straddling his legs. She ran her fingertips down his cheek. “I like seeing these different versions of you. They’re all different from each other in their own way. This you. The you in New York. The you that’s mine.”

He tucked her hair behind her ear. “I meant what I said. Every version is yours, Dollface.” He smiled playfully and asked, “Which one do you like best?”

“All of them, for their own reasons,” she replied, honestly. Her tone was also playful as were the fingers running up and down his sides.

He kissed her, gently and softly. It wasn’t foreplay. He didn’t mean it as a prelude to sex. It was an intimacy that stood alone. When he broke the kiss, something in him dipped, leaving a strange pit in his stomach. He stared into her eyes and decided that things needed to be said, now, to this early version of her. He had no idea why he’d never said any of this before but now the words demanded his voice. He drew her up, resting his forehead against hers and closed his eyes.

“Time is a strange creature, Mei. Each moment is separate, distinct - a universe all on its own. It feels like it’s gone in the blink of an eye but it’s infinite. A moment can last a lifetime. It’s just perception. Always remember that time has no meaning for us. A moment without me can be right around the corner from one that’s with me.” He opened his eyes and wasn’t surprised to find her staring at him. “These moments? They don’t end. They always exist. Somewhere. Somewhen. I will be with you, linearly, for as long as I’m able. But I will always be with you. Always.”

She nodded sadly and he bent to kiss her again and this time Miranda wondered how she didn’t burst into flames from the heat of it. He rolled her, pinning her to the bed. He’d neglected to shut the bunker’s hatch and the sound of their love making echoed up through the Hub.

 


	15. Chapter 15

Fish was unbelievably bored by the time the second day rolled around. Bored and really fucking hungry. He wasn’t even sure if two days had actually passed. Locked away with no windows, and no sunlight, there was no sense of time’s passage. He was assuming it had been two days because he’d slept twice but there was no way to be certain. Cassie must be secure in her prison if she was willing to leave him alone for such a long stretch of time.

His rumbling stomach wanted to worry about the lack of food but Fish repeated to himself... _Three minutes without air. Three hours without shelter. Three days without water. Three weeks without food._ Water was far more important than food. And with no sign of Cassie, his water supply would slowly dwindle. Preparing for the worst, he’d been emptying his bladder into the empty water bottles and not the bucket in the corner. _At least it’s kept the smell down._

For now, he told himself he was tracking his own hydration, not storing emergency liquid. He knew the urine would breakdown and become even more unsafe to drink but considering he was a prisoner with no means of escape and no sign of his captor returning, he wanted to prepare for the worst case scenario.

Though primary in his thoughts, second on his list was the lack of food. By the end of the first day, Fish had started to feel the effects. He’d never had to wonder where his next meal was coming from and was used to having easy access to anything he wanted to eat. Going this long without food was not something he was used to. Searching his memory, Fish couldn’t remember going longer than twelve hours without eating something. It had now been over forty eight and he was beginning to feel a little light headed and sluggish.

The limited water was worrisome, the lack of food was uncomfortable but the boredom was becoming unbearable. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d examined the room and it was rapidly losing its appeal. _It never had any_... With a severe lack of entertainment, he’d decided to turn some of his energies to escape regardless of whether or not he thought it would be successful. Each idea was more ludicrous than the one before it. This morning he wondered if he could convince Cassie he was actually a fish and to set him free.

Since escape and food didn’t seem to be in his future, Fish decided to conserve his energy, moving about as little as possible. The only thing he continued to do was think of Henry. He’d decided to sift through the memories of his husband from the very beginning. When he got back to the present, he’d simply start over again. He was remembering his stag night, trying to recall exactly how Jack had managed to get him and Henry tied to that lamppost. He’d been worried about the stag night. Neither he nor Henry had particularly wanted one but their friends had insisted.

Fish had pictured an awkward night of strippers, male and female, along with the endless array of possible pranks humiliations that could befall them both. He should’ve had faith that Ianto would be more considerate. The evening had been very simple. A party bus had picked them all up and driven them to a local steakhouse. After a delicious dinner, the bus had taken the group of men to a local casino for a night of gambling and drinking. There hadn’t been a single stripper in sight either. Fish and Henry had had an amazing time. Jack had lost big while Tom had come out ahead. By the time the bus was dropping them at home, they’d relaxed thinking they’d managed to avoid the normal stag do pranks. Yet, somehow, they’d managed to get tied to a lamppost with plastic wrap... naked.

His brain had been so addled by enough alcohol that he was fuzzy on the details. So while he was sitting on his sleeping bag, he tried to remember them to pass the time. He found that it wasn’t reminiscing that filled time but trying to remember each detail his memory had misplaced.

How had he and Henry ended up disrobed? He remembered the party bus had gone over several potholes and that a drink had been spilled across both shirts. Ianto, in his generosity, had taken some club soda to them. Then, someone had asked the driver to pull over. Rhys? No, it had been Tom. Fish couldn’t remember why. Had his friend said something about needing some air? He’d feigned being sick.

Ianto had produced his phone, suggesting they get a picture of Henry and Fish by the bus since they’d neglected to do so at the beginning of the evening. And they’d been stopped anyway. _Henry hadn't wanted to be photographed without his shirt._ After some convincing, Henry had acquiesced as the rest of them had pulled off their own shirts. They’d gotten the driver to take pictures of all of them.

A smile came across his face as the memory came back to him in full. Ianto had suggested they get another picture of all of them standing under that lamppost. He’d made some offhanded comment about how the light was poor and the pictures weren’t coming out properly. They’d put Henry and Fish in the middle. Then, halfway through the act of posing for the picture, their friends had pounced, shoving them against the lamppost and wrapping them up in tape and plastic wrap. With their upper bodies secure, Jack and Rhys had taken great pleasure in yanking off their jeans and pants, tossing them aside.

Fish smiled as he remembered the gales of deep laughter. Tom had been so overcome with hysterics he’d been doubled over. Several pictures had been taken but Fish couldn't remember by whom. They’d left him and Henry tied to that lamppost for over an hour, even getting back onto the bus and driving off. It was then that the panda car had pulled over, flashing lights and all. They'd recognised Fish as a Torchwood team member, of course, but were disinclined to look the other way. By the time the bus returned to the lamppost, the PC's had arrested them. Jack had come to their rescue, of course. He'd shown up in his coat and barked “Torchwood.” It was all it took to get them released. Fish and Henry had stumbled into their loft, tipsy and giggling. Henry confessed to never having been arrested before. Their shared shower had led to a heated, intimate encounter in their bed. It had left Fish trembling with tears leaking from his eyes.

Before the memories became too poignant for Fish’s aching heart, he let out a sigh and opened his eyes. He blinked against the light and stood up for his water ration. As always before he drank, he examined the bottle carefully for any tampering. He’d already been over them but he couldn’t be too careful. It didn’t matter anyway. It wasn’t like he had any other available source of water if these turned out to be tainted.

The sound of the hatch door handle startled him. He let out a cry and jumped. For a moment, he thought about attempting escape but it was a very bad idea. His goal was to survive until the team could find him and an escape attempt or assaulting his captor wouldn’t help him move towards those goals. He tried to sip his water as casually as he could.

Cassie walked into the room, and to Fish’s relief, she was carrying a pizza box and another case of water. “Sorry, I forgot to leave you food.”

She took a few steps into the room and then laid the box onto the floor, like a keeper leaving food for a pet or a zoo animal. She put the case of water next to it. “I didn’t know what would keep.”

“Thanks. This is fine,” he said. He tried not to act too eager as he walked over to the box but he was ravenous. The smell alone was driving him mad. He opened the pizza box. It was a meat feast pizza from Jubilee. It was stone cold but he didn’t care. He picked up a slice and bit into it, failing miserably at hiding his enthusiasm at finally having food. The slice was gone in a matter of minutes and he started in on another one even though his told himself he should ration it.

“I was a little worried you were going to let me starve,” he said, not bothering to hide his nervousness.

“I don’t know how often humans need to eat,” she said, shrugging.

“A slice or two, three times a day would be pretty normal. Want some?” he asked, pushing the box in her direction. _May as well try and form a rapport…_

She shook her head. “What is that anyway?”

“It’s pizza,” he replied, not understanding the question. She didn’t know what it was? She’d bought it.

“I know. What’s pizza?”

He was reminded vividly of how he had to constantly explain twenty first century human culture to John Hart. He flipped open the pizza box and pointed as he spoke.

“It’s a fairly ubiquitous food in western culture. There are a couple of different varieties but the general, standard pizza is a disc of thin bread. It’s coated in a thin layer of some sort of sauce - usually made from cooked tomatoes which are a kind of vegetable but it can be anything sort of sauce, really. It’s topped with a layer of cheese. Uhh…” he paused, trying to think of how to define cheese.

“I know what cheese is,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Uhh, right. Anyway, the whole thing is baked in an oven,” he said, pointing at his food. “It’s a basic platform you can add all sorts of toppings to. These are bits of seasoned meat but you can add just about any vegetable or food or… well, come to think of it, people have put just about anything on top of a pizza. You don’t have pizza in the fifty first century?”

She shook her head.

“Well now that’s a shame. Have some,” he said, pushing it towards her.

“I don’t eat cooked animal flesh,” she replied.

“Religious, cultural or physiological?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“All three,” she replied.

That made him even more curious but he didn’t push the subject. He had no idea if he’d be pushing towards a cultural taboo or not. Instead, he switched to small talk. “So how’s your day going?” She didn’t say anything so he tried, “Any chance of me getting out of here?”

She ignored the question and produced a folded newspaper from under her arm. She tossed it at his feet. “Hold that up for me.”

He put down the pizza, wiped his hands on his jeans and picked up the paper. It was dated two days after he and Henry had gone to the car park. He’d seen enough movies to know what this was about. Proof of life. _Ransom?_ Was that why she was holding him? He couldn’t imagine what she wanted. And he couldn't imagine he was worth much.

He shrugged and opened the paper so the front page was clearly visible. She tapped her vortex manipulator a few times. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” he said. He didn’t bother hiding the nasty tone. “I guess letting me go is out of the question?”

“No way Jose. Absolutely not. Negatory. Fuck no,” she said.

In another situation, the way she spouted idioms would be funny but Fish wasn’t laughing. Everything became less funny when she pulled a knife.

“Oi!” he snapped, backing away from her. “What the fuck is that for?”

“Hold still, now,” she said. “Jax wants proof of life and he’s going to get it.”

“That’s what the fucking newspaper’s for!” he shouted, throwing it at her.

He tried to back up again but she was too fast. She was on him in a flash, pinning him face down on the metal floor, face down. She may have been thin but she was strong. He thought he was putting up a decent fight, but eventually she grew tired of the struggle and sank the stinger on her tail into his shoulder. He let out a frustrated scream.

He struggled as hard as he could but nothing he did made a difference. In fact, he quickly realised he was making it worse. His struggles raised his heart rate and blood pressure, pumping the venom through his system faster. She slid off his back and began humming some sort of tune. If Fish could move, he would’ve been vibrating with fear. He couldn’t move his head. He had no idea where she was. The metal floor was cold and smelled like a greasy coin. He could still blink his eyes and control his breathing. The dread crept up over him and he tried to keep his breathing slow and even. He looked around as much as he could without moving his head.

Cassie was walking around him in circles, the knife in her hand. Finally, she knelt down and lifted up his left hand, bending his elbow and shoulder so that the hand was clearly in his line of sight. She felt each knuckle of each digit, as if sussing out how each one was attached. He was becoming less and less successful in keeping his breathing under control. He tried to open his mouth to scream or shout but he couldn’t. His half open mouth was useless, drooling onto the floor.

She gave him a sly look as she held up his thumb and wiggled it.

“This little piggy went to market,” she said.

Her plan became clear to him. His stomach bottomed out and he tried to scream, struggle, or fucking do _anything_. She dropped his thumb and twisted his index finger.

_Oh God!_

“This little piggy stayed home…”

His breath was coming faster, short sharp gasps of terror. He slammed his eyes shut, refusing to watch… but he could still feel everything. She dropped his index finger and caressed her own fingertip down his middle finger.

_Oh God! No!_

“This little piggy had roast beef…”

She twisted his wedding ring and Fish’s terror increased. His heart thundered in his chest.

_No! No!_

“This little piggy had none…”

He wished he could clamp his hands over his ears too. She left his ring finger alone. He felt his pinky finger get pushed aside from the rest of his hand.

_Oh God! Please! Oh God! No! NO! Please!_

“And this little piggy cried, wee…”

He couldn’t even slam his eyes shut as she dug the point of the knife into his pinky finger’s knuckle.

 _NoNoNoNoNoNoNoNONONONONONONONONONO_!

“Wee…”

He felt the point of the knife pierce his skin and heard it plunge down and hit the metal below. The pain exploded up his arm, blinding him. His hand and arm were on fire. He was hyperventilating so badly, he was lightheaded and the room was beginning to spin. He couldn't scream, flail or kick to dampen the pain. All he could do was lay there and _feel_.

“Wee…”

Inside of his mind he was screaming. Nothing had ever hurt like this in all of his life and he imagined that nothing ever would. He felt her hand close around his finger and then she bent it backwards. But worse than the pain was the sickening pop-crunch when the joint separated - like twisting off a chicken wing. There was so much pain, the added agony as she sawed the rest of the sinew and flesh holding the finger to him away was barely noticed.

“All the way home…”

Then he made one of the biggest mistakes of his life.

He opened his eyes.

His left hand was palm up and right in front of his eyes was the jagged fleshy mound where his finger used to be. A shiny piece of cartilage peeked out of the bloody mass. He could see a slice in the middle from where the knife had entered.

The nausea rose up in him and the freshly eaten pizza came up out of his mouth involuntarily. It spewed in front of him, the chunky puddle sliding slightly back into his jaw and neck. The smell didn't make things better. Thankfully, the sick didn’t reach his hand. He slammed his eyes shut and felt the tears rolling out as he laid there. He heard something hit the metal floor and then heard the hatch door open and close. The last thing he thought before he passed out was, _Henry_ …

 


	16. Chapter 16

Henry stepped back from the Hub’s kitchen countertop, eyeing every inch of the surface for some sign of dirt. The stainless steel material was most often found in commercial kitchens, but Ianto had wanted something long lasting and durable. Even though he and Jack lived in Miranda’s old storage-room-turned-flat, the Welshman continued to use this kitchen more than the one in his living space. Henry’s careful eye swept over the surface, giving particular scrutiny to the corners or any other area that might hide dirt. This time he found none - not even imaginary. He heaved out a small sigh.

This was the second time this morning he had scoured the Hub kitchen from top to bottom. He’d removed everything from the cupboards. He’d wiped down all the shelves and the cupboard doors. He’d cleaned the refrigerator, inside and out. He’d pulled it out, hoovering behind and beneath. He’d binned all the old leftovers. He’d gotten down on his hands and knees and scrubbed every inch of the floor. No one bothered him. They all knew the cleaning for what it was - Henry was trying to keep himself as occupied as possible without being in anyone’s way.

The Hub kitchen hadn’t been this clean since it had been installed. He removed his rubber gloves and draped them over the sink edge to dry. Standing in the kitchen entrance, he looked around, at a loss as to what to do next. In a place as large as the Torchwood Hub, there was always something to keep a person occupied. The largest chore was the never ending cleaning. The archive and the lower levels were cleaned automatically by air filtering and robotic hoovers but the main Hub was always in need of scrubbing.

The thing was that Henry had done all of it already. The place was gleaming. So deep was his desire to keep himself busy and dispel the nervous energy that he’d even tackled the long list of random maintenance around the main Hub. Most of the list required the ordering of parts, but whatever Henry could take care of now, he did. Everything from repainting the peeling metal railing to oiling every hinge in the main Hub was done. The only thing Henry could think of to do next, was to take his efforts upstairs to the Tourist Office.

Since it was the off season, the hours were scaled back. It was unlikely there would be any tourists popping round. There was very little difference between having nothing to do in the main Hub and having nothing to do in the Tourist Office. Either way he was left with his own thoughts and anxieties. At least if he was in the Tourist Office, he’d have the possibility of a little more distraction. Perhaps he could organise the leaflets? The maps? Could the magazines and leaflets could be organised in a more efficient way? Perhaps he could pop out to the shops and purchase new magazines?

After taking a deep breath, Henry turned towards the long staircase that would lead upstairs. As he climbed, he mentally patted himself on the back for how well he was dealing with this. At least when Fish had been caught in the time dilation, he’d had his lover in front of him. He could see Fish and be reassured he was safe. Now?

He shook his head trying to stop that line of thinking before it even started. It would lead nowhere good.

When he got into the Tourist Office, he pushed through the beaded curtain and stopped.

_Ah, a sufficient distraction..._

The room was a disaster. He immediately knew that Jack was the culprit. Having been with Torchwood for nearly a year, he recognised the style of “Hurricane Harkness.” He and Ianto normally kept the boxes of extra leaflets, maps and souvenirs in precise order so everything could easily be found. Every team member was under strict instructions to never rearrange anything. Half of the boxes were opened, their contents riffled through and in disarray. Two boxes were completely tipped over. There was also barely enough space to walk through the disarray.

As he started tidying, he wondered, and not for the first time, how a pristine, orderly man like Ianto Jones tolerated the chaos Jack often left in his wake. What the fifty first century man could possibly have been looking for to create such a disaster was beyond him. Henry folded one of the boxes closed and pushed it back under the counter and the true reason behind the chaos emerged… a small foil packet of lube.

Jack hadn’t been looking for something, he and Ianto had been enjoying themselves. Well, technically each other. It had likely happened immediately before all the rift bomb chaos as Ianto would never have left the place in such a state. He and Jack had a very active sex life and the rift had terrible timing. The only time Ianto neglected to tidy up was when they were interrupted mid or immediately post coitus. This wasn’t the first time Henry had cleaned up after them.

With the first genuine smile he’d had since this whole mess began, he picked the packet up with a tissue and disposed of it. As he continued with the boxes, to his growing amusement, he found more evidence of their tryst. He discovered a white t-shirt tucked into one of the boxes that had Ianto’s aftershave wafting off of it. Henry realised that the two men must have been playing their made up game. What was it Fish had called it? Naked hide and seek? Ianto had blushed spectacularly when he’d explained the game to Henry. The Duke hadn’t remembered all the rules but he knew hidden clothing was involved.

A clear chain of events unfolded as Henry cleaned and discovered further evidence of their tryst. He found a pair of Jack’s braces knotted in a suggestive and suspicious fashion at the base of one of the posts. Jack’s white t-shirt was found not far from them, cut up the middle next to a pair of scissors. Henry put all the items into one of the smaller empty boxes. He would leave the box on Jack’s desk. A wicked part of him wondered if he should tease the young Welshman about it under the guise of a serious talk about cleaning up after oneself or appropriate workplace behaviour. Ianto’s embarrassment would be spectacularly entertaining. Perhaps Jack’s creative nature in - _and out_ , he thought with amusement - of the bedroom was part of what Ianto saw in the man.

Involuntarily, he closed his eyes and remembered the last time he’d held Fish in his arms. He shivered, almost feeling Fish’s kiss swollen lips on his neck and his fingers pressing inside him just _so_. He wondered when he’d be able to feel that touch again. He shook his head, stopping the dangerous trail of thought that would lead him towards an emptiness so profound, he couldn’t breathe and no longer wanted to. With a stab of sadness, he put the box down by the beaded curtain so he would remember to carry it downstairs. He cleared his throat roughly and looked at his watch. It had taken him just over an hour to put everything back as it had been. He hadn’t killed as much time as he’d thought. With a sigh, he unlocked the front door.

He flipped the sign on the door and unlocked it. As he turned back to the counter, he wondered if Jack and Ianto had taken their activities out of doors. He certainly didn’t put it past them and it wouldn’t do to have empty packets of lube outside. When he stepped outside, everything certainly looked in order. He breathed in the sea air and the memory of his and Fish’s first kiss flooded his mind. It had been perfect as far as first kisses went, the warmth of Fish’s lips and soul chasing away the afternoon chill. He let that tender memory hold him as he looked around. There was no evidence of Jack and Ianto but there was some random litter that Henry decided to clear away. In the corner, there was a filthy newspaper with a styrofoam coffee cup on top of it. It looked like someone had forgotten their morning breakfast. He grabbed the cup by the plastic lid and picked it up. It was stuck to the newspaper. Several of the first few pages were also welded together with whatever substance was on the front. The lid wasn’t secure and the newspaper was heavy. It came off and the cup tipped over. Water and a few mostly melted pieces of ice sloshed out.

Along with a bloody plastic bag... containing a human finger.

Henry let out a startled shout and took several steps backwards. He clamped his hand over his heart as his breath remained locked in his chest. Despair, followed by anger, and then rage burst up. He ran out to the Plass, looking right and left for any sign of Cassie but there was no one. After a few gestures of frustration and some muttered swearing, he stomped his way back down to the Tourist Office. He threw the door open and planted his hands on the edge of the counter to calm himself. The rage tempered the hollowness that threatened to overwhelm him. He squeezed his eyes shut as tears dripped onto the floor. It took a few deep breaths but he managed to get his emotions under control. He reached for the telephone to ring downstairs but his hand hovered. Should he summon the entire team? Or just a few? He decided he didn’t want an audience.

 _Gwen for collecting the forensic evidence. Ianto or Mao-Lin to see to the proper first aid for_ … He picked up the telephone and dialed.

“Bored already, love?” Gwen asked, cheerfully.

“Is Ianto there?” he asked. “Or Mao-Lin?”

“I’ll get one of them for you,” she said. “Ring you back in a minute.”

He heard the subtle click and put down the receiver. Within a few moments it rang.

“My Lord?”

“Cassie has left something at the Tourist Office door - today’s newspaper… and a cup containing Joe’s finger.”

“I’m coming up,” she said. Her voice was icy cold.

“Just you, and Gwen, please… Perhaps Ianto as well,” he begged. “For now.”

“Of course, my Lord,” she said, calmly.

He took a few steps back and collapsed into a chair. Pressing his thumbs into the space between his eyes, he hung his head and let out a breath.

“Henry?”

 _Ianto_. He hadn’t felt the immortals approach nor heard the beaded curtain or the hidden doorway or even footsteps. The amalgam of emotions had momentarily robbed him of his voice. He felt a reassuring hand rest, lightly, on his shoulder.

“Out… Outside,” he said, waving without looking up.

Ianto gave him a sympathetic look and squeezed his shoulder. He produced two pills and a bottle of water.

 _Sedatives_. For a moment, he thought about refusing them but it was the best thing for him. His hands shook badly as he took the pills and he fumbled opening the water bottle. Ianto twisted the cap off for him.

“Thank you, lad,” he said. He knocked them back with the water. Since his stomach was empty. The floaty and disconnected feeling began almost immediately.

Seeing his friend’s eyes beginning to droop and the slight sway to his head, Ianto took him by the arm gently, and said, “I’ll take you downstairs.”

Henry nodded numbly, and allowed himself to be led away. Ianto looked up just as the door’s bell tinkled. Miranda and Gwen stepped into the room and began laying the newspaper and other items out on the counter as he guided Henry towards the lift. Just as they went through the hidden door, Jack and Hart walked through the beaded curtain.

“What did you find?” Jack asked.

Gwen waved at the newspaper. “Today’s newspaper, a dirty and this may be blood.”

Miranda pushed the cup in their direction, removing the lid. “Fish’s pinky finger. I don’t know whether it’s the right or the left yet.”

Hart and Jack both peered into the cup and flinched. Jack said, “I want DNA to confirm.”

“Yes, Captain,” Miranda replied, coldly. “I need to examine it to determine the viability. I don’t know how long it was sitting outside or what the severed edge looks like. At least she had the sense to tend to it properly.” She picked up the cup and headed for the stairs. She gave the two men a smouldering look and as she walked away, she said, “You best get to her before I do, because I swear by all the Gods and Goddesses, above and below, that when I am done with her? You will be scraping her into a cryodrawer with a trowel.”

Gwen looked at them over her shoulder. With accusation, she spat, “You said you asked for a picture with a newspaper!”

“I did, Gwen,” Jack said, dryly. He put his finger down on the bloodstained picture of Fish holding the newspaper with a half smile on his face. “She got creative.”

“Why deviate from what you asked for?” Gwen asked.

Jack winced and Hart answered her, “Kidnapping is more common in the fifty first than it is today. The standard ransom note is a severed major limb. It leaves the victim severely injured so that the ransom is paid faster. The deadline is literal. Pay before the victim dies. There’s no time to demand proof of life or an open line of communication.”

Gwen looked appalled.

“Her going with a fifty first century method was a risk when I asked for it,” Jack said, flatly.

“It was a risk?!” she cried. She rounded on Jack, shoving him roughly. “That’s some bloody risk you took! How dare you, Jack? You should’ve told us! Warned us!” She waved at the bloody newspaper. “Henry had to see this for God’s sake!”

Hart glared at Jack as if to say, I told you so. He rolled his eyes and went to examine the newspaper and the photograph.

“She won’t take that big a risk with Fish. She needs him alive,” Jack insisted.

“So we should be grateful only she cut off his finger, eh?” she snapped.

Jack could tell she was winding up so he ignored the comment. With a wave at the newspaper, he said, “Run all the usual tests and scan that picture. There could be a clue to his location in there somewhere.”

They all looked up at the sound of the beaded curtain. Ianto was just entering the room with a carefully neutral look on his face. He briefly looked at all of them and settled his gaze on his husband.

“I put Henry to sleep in our bed.”

Jack gave him the barest nod of acknowledgement but shifted his attention when Hart leaned in behind him and whispered something in his ear. Jack turned his head and gave his friend an annoyed look and whispered something back. Both fifty first century men began having a hushed disagreement, whispering and hissing back and forth in their native language. Gwen and Ianto both looked at each other and rolled their eyes.

Ianto cleared his throat loudly, and said, “Whispering when we can’t understand you already, adds a whole new level of rudeness.”

The two men looked up at him. Jack looked apologetic for a moment then turned to Hart and said, in English, “End of discussion.”

“But don’t you think-” Hart said, also in English, but Jack interrupted him.

“What part of 'end of discussion,' did you not understand?” he snapped.

Shaking his head, Hart began examining the evidence laid out across the counter.

Jack turned his attention to Ianto. “I’m going to want you on the CCTV, Yan. The smart thing for her to do would’ve been to teleport in and out but that could’ve set off the rift alerts. We may be able to follow her to where she’s holding Fish.”

A few strides brought him to Hart’s right as he looked at the evidence himself.

He gestured at the blood stained headline. “This changes everything. If she’s willing to take this kind of risk, we need to be more aggressive.”

“We need to be aggressive anyway,” Ianto said, firmly. “The wound might not be life threatening but it needs to be treated or it can become infected.”

They all fell into an extremely awkward silence that Hart broke.

“Huh,” he said, to no one. He was looking at the back of the picture, his eyes tick-tocking back and forth.

Gwen leaned in, attempting to read what she couldn’t understand. When Hart didn’t offer a translation, she asked, “What’s that then?”

“It’s Ekumen,” Hart said.

She rolled her eyes. “Sorted that for myself, thanks. What does it say?”

Before he could answer her, Jack plucked the picture from Hart’s fingers with a snap of his wrist.

“Oi!” Hart exclaimed.

Jack held up his hand, palm out, to silence him so he could concentrate on reading. Hart rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue at Jack, annoyed. He knew Jack wanted to read the entire message himself, to decide whether or not to censor it for the others. The message was long and rambled on but the main purpose was to convey the details for when and where Cassie wanted to exchange Fish for Jack.

“It’s how she wants the exchange to go down,” Jack said, frowning.

“And?!” both Ianto and Gwen said, simultaneously.

“Two days from now, the Plass,” he said. “Typical prisoner exchange. She’s at one end. We’re at the other. I walk over to her. Fish walks over to us,” Jack said, tersely.

“Is that all it says? Looks like it says more than that,” Gwen said and Jack was saved from having to answer when the hidden doorway slid open. It was Miranda with a sour look on her face.

“Preliminary DNA confirms, it’s Fish’s finger,” she said.

“That was fast,” Jack said.

“I used the quick comparison test strips. The ones that Harper designed after he reverse engineered that test kit that fell through the rift,” she replied. “There is a lot of tissue and I’d prefer to do a more comprehensive analysis but I can’t accomplish it without compromising the digit,” Miranda said.

“Is there anything vital you need from that analysis?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Even though it’s the smallest digit, there isn’t any information I’d glean that would be worth sacrificing the possibility of reattachment.”

“Can you reattach it?” Ianto asked.

She flicked her eyes to Ianto. “The digit was severed at the fifth metocarpophalangeal joint. I believe it was the left. The articular cartilage is damaged.”

Ianto looked upward, accessing the information in his brain. He said, frowning. “There’s a high probability the replantation would fail. But I agree with Mandy, it’s worth preserving the possibility. Fish works with his hands a lot. Destroying the digit would only give us information that wouldn’t be very pertinent - basically what we could obtain from any blood sample. We might learn something from scraping under the nail.”

“I stored the digit in a stasis drawer for now,” Miranda said. She turned her attention to the newspaper and photograph. “Is there anything useful amongst that?”

Jack put the picture down on the countertop and stabbed at it with his finger. Miranda only spoke the futuristic language and was Ekumen illiterate. “Details for the exchange.” After repeating the information to Miranda, he turned to Ianto, “How long do we have until infection sets in?”

“It's difficult to say and there's too many variables to make any accurate guess. I'd say... twenty four to seventy two hours,” Ianto said. “If he’s not restrained and has medical supplies, it may be longer than that.”

Jack didn’t hesitate. “We go through with the exchange as outlined. She wants us on the south side of the Plass and her on the north. Ianto? Get the pulse rifle from the armoury. John? I want you on the roof of the Millennium Centre with it. I hope your aim’s improved. Will? I want you on our end of the Plass with Ianto ready to treat any of Fish’s injuries. Gwen? I want your own car by the bus station to give chase if we need it-”

“Where am I to be positioned, Jack?” a polite English voice asked.

They all looked up and saw the beaded curtain part for Henry. They all looked nervously at him, each other and then Jack. Gwen put her hand on Jack’s arm and said, “Jack, do you think-”

He cut her off and said, “The benches by the water tower. I want you to sit there, act natural and try to blend in. You’ll also give chase if we need it.”

The awkward silence became even thicker. Each one of them was cycling through an internal debate, wondering whether or not they should raise their objections with Henry present. The Duke met each one of their gazes, challenging them to say anything against him. But they all stayed silent.

He looked at Ianto and said, “If it’s all right, lad, I shall be retiring early. I hope you do not think ill of me for leaving you the nighttime chores.”

He shook his head. “Go get some rest, Henry.”

“I have also taken the liberty of helping myself to some more tablets,” he said. “While I thank you for your hospitality, I believe I shall return home tonight.”

Ianto tried not to betray his surprise. The dosage he'd given him was high and the Englishman had been sound asleep when he'd left him downstairs. For Henry to take more? Well, at least he didn't have to worry about an overdose doing permanent harm to the man.

Gwen stepped forward. “You’ve already had two. Let me drive you home. I’m knocking off anyway once the computers start processing.”

Henry nodded and allowed the former PC to follow him. She glared at Jack over her should before walking away, following Henry down the staircase.

They all waited nearly five minutes to ensure Henry was well out of earshot before erupting.

“Jack, you can't let him to be a part of this!” Miranda shouted.

“Him being there's not a good idea,” Hart said.

“Not that I want to be known for agreeing with him,” Ianto said, jerking his head in Hart’s direction, “but he’s right, Jack. Henry’s too close to this.”

“We’re all too close to this,” he said, stamping down the arguments. He turned towards the beaded curtain and said, “Finish the analysis and go get some rest, all of you.”

 


	17. Chapter 17

Fish blinked. His eyes burned with a level of exhaustion so deep that it was sending tendrils out into his bones. With his hand in absolute agony, he’d been unable to sleep. He’d been lying on the sleeping bag for he had no idea how long. Every time he drifted off, his hand throbbed painfully, jolting him awake. He had no idea how long it had been and now that he wasn’t sleeping regularly, he had no idea how to mark the passage of time. Since he lacked any other means of keeping track of time, he’d begun marking it with food. He’d eat a quarter slice of cold pizza and then eat again when his stomach began to growl. So, assuming the time between was similar, he estimated by the time he finished two slices, it was probably a whole day or close to it. Normally, he wouldn’t care but he needed to keep a regular schedule to know when it was time to change the bandage on his hand.

Finally, he gave up on sleep and sat up. His stomach also chose that moment to give a loud rumble. Since he was on his last quarter slice for the “day,” it meant it was time to change his bandage. Experience had taught him to wait to eat until after he was done. The thud he’d heard before he’d passed out had been a small first aid kit. This was his second bandage change, so he knew what he was in for. With dread, he opened the kit. He tried to use the injured hand as little as possible. Any movement of his remaining fingers or even touching the hand itself caused eye watering pain that took his breath away. Unable to tolerate opening his daily ration of water, he’d taken to opening all the bottles in the morning and leaving the caps off so he only had to endure the pain once. It put them in danger of being spilled but he didn’t care.

Fish looked down at the white gauze wrapped around his hand. He tried his best to ignore the absence of the finger. After swallowing hard, he untucked the end of the gauze and began unwinding it. He did it gently, but there were still stabs of pain. Once the long length of gauze was undone, he examined it, grateful that it was still unsoiled.

Water wasn’t the only thing that he needed to ration now. He only had one first aid pack and it had a limited amount of supplies in it. The long length of gauze he’d used to keep the bandage in place was the only one he had. He'd placed a non-stick pad on the wound itself and then placed squares of gauze on top of that to cushion it. The non-stick pad and the gauze squares directly above it were definitely soiled but some of the ones on top were clean. He carefully separated the squares that were clean from those that had signs of blood or yellowish ooze.

Fish took a deep, shuddering breath as he poured water out onto some of the gauze squares. Keeping his wound clean was more important than his hydration. With a hiss, he peeled the non-stick pad away. Bile rose in his stomach at the sight. He pulled the supposedly non-stick surface away from the wound. It had definitely stuck in places.

It was hard for him to stomach looking at the gaping patch of flesh with the shiny knob of bone and cartilage peeking out the middle. Before he got to cleaning, he carefully examined it for signs of infection. The skin around the edges was red and warm to the touch but no more so than yesterday. The redness hadn’t spread and there were no lines up his hand or arm.

 _Yet…_ He took a deep breath, shook his head and scolded himself. _Oi, stop thinking like that…_

The scab was moist but not oozing.

 _Yet…_ He clenched his jaw and scolded himself again. _Oi! Stop! Stop thinking like that…_

He dabbed the wet gauze around the wound, hissing or crying out with each touch. He swallowed hard as he squeezed out some more antibiotic ointment onto another non-stick pad. He didn’t bother trying to hold back his grunts and shouts of pain as he put the pad in place. Who the fuck was going to hear him? Panting, he put some more gauze squares on top of it and then wrapped it up with the same length of gauze he’d used previously.

Once the agonising chore was done, he took inventory of the kit and it's laughable supplies meant to treat cuts and scrapes, not an amputated finger. He only had three more non-stick pads and two more packets of antibiotic ointment. Once the length of gauze on his hand became soiled, he’d be left with plasters of varying sizes. He wanted to toss the whole fucking kit against the wall. He settled for throwing the empty water bottle.

It wasn’t enough and because of his medical training with Torchwood, Fish knew exactly how inadequate it was. He needed surgery. The wound needed debridement and flushing, and likely, a skin graft.

_And antibiotics. Lots of antibiotics…_

Terror threatened to rise up as his medical training told him exactly what would happen as infection set in and raged out of control.

_You could get blood poisoning… septicaemia…_

He took a deep, breath that was meant to calm him but didn’t and thought, _Stop, think positive…_

The lack of antibiotics was what scared him the most. If infection set in, he would be in some deep fucking trouble. It was why these bandage changes and cleanings were so important. He'd have to conserve the ointment better.

 _You were lucky…_ He let out a snort. _This is fucking lucky? YES IT IS! You’re ALIVE aren’t you?_

The experience had been one of the most traumatic of his life and would probably haunt his nightmares until his dying day. The pain kept him awake, yes, but he knew that once he fell asleep, there would be nightmares – grisly aftershocks of the trauma rumbling back up. _That day could be soon_. He pushed that thought aside as soon as it materialised.

The loss of his smallest finger from his non-dominant hand, in the grand scheme of things, was nothing because he could tell that Cassie was capable of far worse. There were plenty of things she could’ve cut off that wouldn’t immediately endanger his life.

 _There are nine other fingers… ten toes… your ears… your…_ He shuddered at the thought of other parts that no man _ever_ wanted to think about losing.

She was going to certain lengths to keep him alive - maybe not keep him in the most optimal condition, but she seemed to definitely want him to live.

 _That’s a good thing, right?_ A tiny, frightened voice in the back of his mind whispered… _I want to go home…_

Tears threatened to well up and he squashed them back. He needed to stay strong. He’d heard the stories of men kept as prisoners of war for years and his respect for them had increased a thousand fold. This was only his fourth day of captivity and his spirit was beginning to wane and despair was creeping into his psyche. He wasn’t trying to keep himself busy or his mind occupied. Once his water was opened and his bandage changed, Fish would plop himself down into the sleeping bag and close his eyes. He wasn’t even trying to conjure anymore of the happy memories of him and Henry that had sustained him previously. Now when he thought of Henry, the anguish was so great, all he did was force his husband from his thoughts. This time he didn't manage to push him out of his mind fast enough. His bottom lip began to quiver. His whole being was aching for Henry - his voice, the freckled skin, his soft smile. _What I wouldn’t give to hold him on last time… Stop it, stop thinking like that…_ He tried to convince himself he wasn’t going to die and that he was going to get out of this but it was getting harder and harder.

He couldn’t imagine - didn’t want to imagine - what his husband must be going through. He slammed his eyes against the image of the knife in Henry’s chest. _What if that’s the last image I have of him… Fuck all! Stop it._ The fear that he might never see Henry again stole his breath and sent tears rolling back towards his ears. _You need to keep your spirits up… You need to stay strong to get back to him… Christ, fuck this shite!_

No, he didn’t want his endless fucking pep talk right now. He just didn’t have the strength anymore. He tucked his legs into his chest and let it all crash down over him. The very real possibility that he may never see Henry again or that he would die here sucked every ounce of energy, hope and joy he’d ever felt. He wasn’t going to get out of here. There was nothing but the cold room and this horrible sleeping bag. Had there been a time in his life when he’d been happy? When this amazing, beautiful man had held him close and made him laugh and smile and feel like the centre of the whole universe? Or had it been a dream that was gone forever? He lay there, foetal, sobbing like a hurt little boy. He didn’t hold back. He expelled the fear and the loneliness up and out of his throat with sobs and out of his mind with tears. He wasn’t sure how long it was but he’d cried himself to sleep.

When he woke, his head and hand pounded but it had been just what he’d needed. He was a prisoner, locked in a metal room. He’d been assaulted, his finger sliced from his body. He was injured and needed medication attention. There was a real possibility of him becoming ill from his injury, the limited food, limited water or all of those things. He was allowed to feel despair. He was allowed to be afraid. His eyes were sore and so swollen, he could barely open them. His face was glued to the sleeping bag with dried snot and crusted tears. He sat up, sniffled and used some of his water ration to clean himself up. He was a fucking mess, but he felt better.

He’d been rationing his water and his food carefully because he had no idea when or if Cassie would return. Today, he decided to throw some caution to the wind. _Fuck it. I'm hungry._ He was having a shit time. He could indulge. He ate an entire slice of pizza slowly and then allowed himself a larger indulgence. He took two of the only eight paracetamol from the medical pack. It made his eyes and throat feel better but it didn’t touch the pain in his hand. What he wouldn’t give for some of the narcotic tablets he had at home for his knee. Normally, Fish hated those tablets. They made him feel fuzzy and disconnected and just, well, altered, and he didn’t like that at all. He only took them if he was incapable of walking, or if Henry begged him. Now? He’d swallow down two with no argument.

_Christ, this can’t possibly get any worse…_

Just as the thought finished in his mind, he heard the sound of footsteps in the hallway. His stomach plummeted and his hands instantly felt clammy. His mouth went dry when he heard the hatch door. He jumped up and took about half a dozen steps backwards until his back hit the far wall. His heart hammered in his chest and tears sprang back up in his eyes.

_NO!_

He refused to show Cassie fear, or face her empty-handed. This time, he’d defend himself by whatever means he could. He stood up, tall and straight, still holding his injured hand up but trying not to make it look as if he were cradling it against himself. He bent and grabbed the bucket. He took a deep breath, grabbing the fear in his chest with his will and crushing it into anger. With determination, he took a few steps towards the door.

It swung open but not all the way. She started to step into the room. Her hands were occupied. Balanced on one was a pizza box and underneath the other was another first aid kit.

He'd initially prepared to defend himself against another attack but now that he saw her hands were occupied? There was no debate, there was only seizing the moment. With a burst of adrenaline fuelled energy, he surged forward, ramming his shoulder into the door. It slammed her backwards, and her arm was shut in it. She let out a shriek. The pizza fell to the floor. The first aid kit clattered in the hallway, popped open and the medical supplies went everywhere. When she sat back up, Fish flung the bucket at her face, cracking her squarely on the side of her head.

She fell backwards, unconscious, and Fish saw his chance. He shoved the door aside and leaped over her. For a moment, he paused. He looked down at his mangled hand. Slowly, he leaned down and picked up the bucket. He clenched his jaw, letting the rage slowly build as he lifted it over his head, ready to bring it down onto her skull. He stood there, unable to move. With a growl, he tossed the bucket aside. He was no killer.

He looked up. The hallway went in two directions so he picked one at random. He had no idea if it was correct or not. His guess turned out to be lucky. He came to a staircase that led up into another hallway that as above deck. There were round windows along it and he looked out of one, expecting to see Wales but to Fish’s utter horror, he saw nothing but ocean - an ocean that was brownish red underneath a butterscotch coloured sky. He was no longer on Earth.

_FuckFuckFuckFuckFUCKFUCKFUCK! I’M FUCKED! I’M FUCKED! I’M COMPLETELY FUCKING FUCKED!!_

He looked left and right, trying to decide what to do, glad that he hadn't killed her. He certainly wasn’t going back downstairs. He turned right and headed towards one of the doorways and that was when he noticed the smell.

The putrid stench of decay was distinctive and a Torchwood operative was no stranger to it. Fish turned away from the window and noticed the bodies scattered along the hallway. They all appeared human. He swallowed hard and continued to make his way to the hatch. When he reached it, he hesitated. He had no idea if the planet’s atmosphere would support him. There could be some sort of environmental system that was keeping the conditions within the ship ideal for a human being. Was that how the dead behind him had met their demise?

He turned and headed back the way he came. He passed the stairway and kept going. Eventually he came to what looked like the bridge of the ship. He started examining the instruments and the dials but even though they were in English, they told him nothing. He stepped over to the radio and tripped over something heavy. It was another body.

He didn’t bother checking for signs of life. The bloated abdomen, discoloured skin and the smell were all he needed to tell him that this being was no longer alive. There were more windows here and more light, so Fish took a good look. The person appeared to have been a human woman, dressed in typical twenty first century Earth clothing. The whole situation was bizarre. There were a few bodies in this room. Fish located one of the men and found the wallet in his back pocket. There was a UK driving licence with Welsh on it. It was dated recently. He slipped it into his pocket then looked out through the windows.

 _On an alien planet, in a Welsh boat from the twenty first century…_ He didn’t have time to consider how it was possible. The water he was drinking was from Tesco. The pizza box had been from Jubilee. Obviously Cassie was getting to Cardiff somehow. She had a vortex manipulator, she could’ve been using that. But was the device strong enough to transport an entire boat? At least he knew for certain this planet’s atmosphere could sustain his life. There was no way an Earth boat from the twenty first century could maintain its own atmosphere. He opened the bridge door and stepped out onto the deck.

 _I’m standing on an alien world…_ he thought with wonder. Was he the first human being on this planet? Was there life here? Could they help him? Would they help him? He took in a deep breath. The air smelled like any sea air, but with a very metallic tang. _I’m breathing alien air…_ He walked to the railing and looked over the edge. The water was a muddy, reddish brown. It looked thick and opaque - almost like paint. Fish had to reign in the desire to touch it because it might not be water. It was leaving a thick residue on the boat’s hull. _An alien ocean…_ He wondered if there was life in it. There were no clouds in the yellowish sky but there were two suns, obscured by some sort of fog or dust. The scientist in him was hopping up and down with glee and excitement. It wanted to explore and examine everything but Fish had other priorities - escape. As he followed the railing all the way round the boat, he saw no land but it was difficult to see very far. The air was hazy and foggy. What he did find was that the ship’s gangway was extended. And that the end disappeared into nowhere.

Fish’s clever mind raced with possibilities. He took off his trainer. After tossing it up and down in his hand a few times, he smiled, then chucked it at the end of the gangway. The trainer vanished but not into the thick water. It disappeared into thin air. With excitement, Fish realised he may be able to just step off of this boat back and go home! He took a deep breath. He couldn't let his eagerness consume him. He had to do this safely.

With infinite caution, he stepped onto the gangway, not taking his hands off the rail even though gripping it with his left hand was agonising. He had zero idea what this ocean’s “water” would do to him if he fell in. He also had no idea if there was life in this ocean that would be dangerous to him. One step at a time, he inched his way to the end of the gangway. Even though the end vanished into no where, it felt solid and stable.

“GAH!” he cried as he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. A foul metallic taste popped out in the back of his mouth, like sucking on a greasy coin. His legs buckled and he sank down towards the water.

A strong hand grabbed him and hauled him back up onto the deck. He felt his body go limp and his vision began to blur.

“You should’ve killed me. Now you’re behind the eight ball, shit out of luck and completely buggered.”

_NOnoNonoNoNOnonoNo!_

She raised the stinger up. It danced over him as she said, “Eenie… Meenie… Miney… MO!”

The stinger buried itself in his belly and Fish could feel the venom as it was injected. It burned, like pure acid that spread out to his fingertips. Every nerve felt like it was on fire. If he could’ve screamed, he would’ve. He started having trouble breathing. His whole body began to feel icy cold and far away.

_NO! NO! NO! NOOOO!_

Was this it? Was this the end? Fish had always known Torchwood would be the end of him and had always wanted memories and thoughts of Henry to be his last. But that plan went straight out the window as human instinct and plain old fashioned fear took over. It consumed his mind as he frantically screamed to the universe with his mind.

There was no white light. There was no sense of peace. There was only denial and frigid terror as the darkness snapped up to claim him.

 


	18. Chapter 18

Ianto was surprised when he walked into the storage rooms turned flat and found it dark. Jack had sent everyone home to get some rest but usually, their fearless leader ignored his own advice. He hoped that the darkened quarters were a sign that Jack had turned in early. He crept carefully and made his way into the bedroom, seeing the lump that was Jack beneath the sheets. Careful not to disturb his husband, he ducked into the en suite so he could change and go about his nightly routine. With his suit hung and clad in soft pyjamas, Ianto stepped into the bedroom. Since Hub was below ground, if there was no artificial light, it was as completely dark as a place could get. Jack disliked it and had put small, very dim night lights all over the flat so Ianto didn't have to stumble his way to their bed. He wondered if Jack would ever get around to installing those false windows he wanted.

After pulling back the blankets, Ianto slid into the bed with a contented sigh. The sheets were cool but there was warmth radiating from Jack's body. He slid across, spooning Jack from behind. The moment he'd settled, he knew his husband was awake. Jack's breathing might be slow and even, but Ianto had shared a bed with him for too long to not be able to distinguish between asleep-Jack and awake-Jack. He planted a firm kiss to his shoulder.

“Cariad?” He knew the answer to the question, but he asked anyway, “Jack? Did I wake you when I came in? I'm sorry.”

Jack shifted, pulling away from Ianto so that he could reach the small lamp on his side table. He turned it on, setting a soft yellow glow into the room.

“No, you didn't, Yan. I was waiting for you,” Jack said. He tugged himself out of Ianto's arms and propped himself up against the headboard, leaning against his pillow. The most common reason Jack would've waited up for him was sex, but that was clearly not his intention. A concerning look was etched on Jack's face. He looked troubled, divided and still wrestling with something.

“Jack? Is something wrong?” he asked. He draped his leg over Jack's.

“We need to talk,” he replied, softly.

When they'd moved in, they'd improved the flat's soundproofing. If the two men couldn't be heard upstairs while in the throws of passion, surely a hushed conversation would be safe. The words “we need to talk” never did anything to put someone at ease but the fact that Jack was using the privacy feature on his vortex manipulator made Ianto more nervous. He sat back, cross-legged, facing his husband.

The blankets shifted as Jack crossed his legs at the ankles beneath them. He spoke slowly. “The future’s always being written. It’s being written right now. It can change, but I know there’s some things that shouldn’t. That can’t...”

He'd trailed off so he could take a breath. “The twenty first century is when everything changes. The human race is thrust to the brink of extinction.” He averted his gaze to look at the wedding picture of Fish and Henry that sat on their shared dresser. “And one man, at the cost of his own life, saves billions – saves humanity. Doctor Joseph Fischer.”

Since the time dilation, he knew Fish was important but he assumed it was in the context of Torchwood. He never imagined it was something like this. He swallowed and licked his lips, his mouth suddenly too dry.

“I know it can't be different... but I keep trying to find another way. I keep trying to find a way to save him. I need to find a different path that leads to the same place. There has to be another way. I know there is. I know it.” He shook his head, then tilted it back so it was resting against the headboard. He stared up at the ceiling. The frustration evident in his voice and posture. “When I reach for that different path, it always goes wrong. Because I can’t see the way _he_ sees. I can’t see all that there is, all that there was or all that ever could be.”

“I'm sorry you've carried this alone, Cariad, but it's knowledge of the future. You didn't need to tell me,” Ianto said, softly.

Jack shook his head, still frustrated. “I have to. Someone else on the ground during the exchange needs to know. Fish is the priority. Not me. Do you understand, Yan? He’s what matters. He’s _all_ that matters.” He let out a forceful huff. “I didn't see this. I've worked so hard to protect him. Protect the future.”

Whenever possible, Jack paired himself with Fish on field calls. It was something that always confused Ianto but was now easily explained. So many unusual things about Fish were now explained. Ianto had never understood the strange way Jack had gazed at Fish when he'd first appeared outside the Tourist Office with an odd glint to his eyes.

 _Celebrity_...

He felt the corner of his mouth involuntarily tug upwards. “Fish is on your list of historical-figures-to-shag, isn't he?”

Jack let out a wry chuckle. “He's hot.”

Ianto shook his head. His husband had no shame. He sobered his expression and said, “It's why you hired him even though Mandy was so against it? Even though the last thing we need is an electrochemist and he's not as good with the alien tech as Tosh was?”

Jack nodded, tears gathering in his eyes. Ianto had never seen so much shame on his husband's face before. “I look him in the eyes. I accept his friendship. I love him like a brother when all I'm doing is leading him to his death. A lamb to the slaughter...”

Ianto felt a measure of that guilt too. Fish had been on the fence about Torchwood when he'd learned of his short life expectancy. Ianto had been the one to convince him. _You're a good man, Doctor Fischer. You're working on the next hybrid car battery because you're the kind of man who acknowledges that there is more to the world than himself. You are the good man who does something._ He swallowed hard and hugged Jack tightly.

“There has to be a way. We'll sort it together.”

Even though Jack nodded, Ianto didn't think he really believed that for a second. He kissed Jack's head. “You're exhausted, Cariad. You're not alone in this anymore. I'm here. Go to sleep.”

Jack took that as permission. He slid down, settling himself in Ianto's arms. Ever the insomniac, Jack usually slept little and had difficulty falling asleep. This time, he was asleep in minutes. Ianto waited until Jack was deeper into his slumber before slipping out of bed. He turned off Jack's light and left the room. When he got to the lounge, he dropped hard onto the sofa.

He stared up into the darkness, a million and one questions swirling through his brain as he tried to assimilate this new knowledge. He almost wished Jack had waited one more day to tell him because there was no way he'd be able to sleep tonight knowing what he knew now. The knowledge made him restless and drained all at once.

Now, he understood how alone Jack must have been with this. There was no one for him to confide in, no one for him to... _Wait_...

He let out a groan when he realised exactly with whom he could speak. He swallowed his pride and walked barefoot to the firing range. He wasn't sure if he was disappointed or grateful the in-use light was still on. It had been in use all day. He didn't want to startle anyone so he turned the knob gently. He needn't have worried. Captain Hart was standing at the firing point rubbing at his eyes. The pulse rifle was plugged into its charger and the yellow shooting glasses were tossed onto the countertop. The former Time Agent looked drained.

“Captain?” Ianto said.

Hart's head snapped up and he gave Ianto a curious look. “Eye Candy? You're up late.” When he got a better look at him, his tone changed to one of concern. “Are you okay?”

“Not especially no,” he said, stepping into the room. He walked over to where Hart was standing and hopped up to sit on the firing point counter. His feet were getting cold on the concrete floor. “I just put Jack to bed and I was wondering if we could have a chat.”

It was an unusual request to say the least and it put Hart on the defensive. “Oh? What've I done now that's got you tamping, fuming, raging?”

Ianto rolled his eyes and said, “You haven’t done anything. I just… there’s no one else I can talk to.”

The light bulb went off over Hart’s head. He held up a single finger and then walked over to the camera on the wall, yanking the cord.

“Sorry, this isn't a conversation that should be overheard by anyone.” He hopped up onto the counter next to Ianto. “Jack’s brought you into our little circle of trust has he?” He swung his legs back and forth a little. “You know I can’t tell you how this works out.”

“I know,” Ianto said, sighing. He let out a small snort. “I can’t believe I’m even having this conversation with you.”

“This might be impossible for you to believe, Ianto, but when I’m from, things are very different between us,” Hart said. He turned to give the Welshman a friendly smile. “In my time, I’m lucky to count you as a friend.”

Ianto let out a skeptical laugh.

“I know, hard to believe, eh? We've come a long way, you and I,” he said, smiling. He cleared his throat. “How can I help you?”

“I don’t know what to _do_ with this. There’s been time nonsense in Torchwood for a while but it’s always controlled, in time locked boxes and with specific instructions. This?” he said, shaking his head. Frustration pounded through him, threatening to pop his skull open. “I don’t know how to act. I don’t know what to think. I feel bloody paralysed. I'm afraid if I say or do the wrong thing, I'll change the future and time will implode or something.”

Hart nodded. He held up his hand and said, “Here’s what they teach in Time Agent 101, Eye Candy. The first thing you have to know is that the future is always being written. Yes, you might change something but you have to let go of that because just your very presence, the very knowledge of something that’s going to happen, changes things. The future isn’t written in stone.”

“But if you and Jack-”

“And now you too.”

Ianto nodded, “And now me, know what’s going to happen, that Fish does all these… things. Doesn’t that mean it will still just happen no matter what we do? That what we do has already happened so it will just happen that way all over again?”

“Doesn’t work that way,” Hart said. He resisted the urge to smile at the primitive thinking. “Do you understand anything about what Jack calls the timey-wimey?”

“A little,” Ianto replied.

“Time isn't one thing happening after another in a straight line of cause and effect. It's more like a gigantic, amorphous mass made up of thoughts and actions that bounce around and hit each other and fly off into other directions in the universe.”

“Jack's used the straight line on a piece of paper analogy before,” Ianto said.

Hart nodded. “It's not the same thing and not technically correct, but it's enough for a twenty-first century level of understanding.”

“Gee, thanks,” Ianto said with mock offence.

“You want a lesson in advanced temporal physics?” Hart joked.

“I'll take your word for it.”

Hart smiled. “Anyway, imagine that that piece of paper isn't blank, but actually is one of those drawing games kids play? Connect the dots? There are some dots on the page that time _must_ flow through. They're called fixed points. A fixed point in time and space is an event that cannot be changed. It's something that _must_ happen,” he said, gesturing lightly with his hands as he spoke. “Usually these are points that have lasting effects on the time stream. I'd say one man saving an entire species that spreads through three galaxies is pretty fucking fixed.”

“So there’s no way round it,” Ianto said, disappointed.

“But the future is always being written. It’s being written right now, as you and I sit here. If I walked up to Fish and put a bullet in his head, then that would change everything wouldn’t it?”

“What would happen if Fish died before he was supposed to?” Ianto asked with a softness that spoke of fear.

“If Fish's death saving humanity is a fixed point, then that would be monumentally bad. Crossing the streams bad,” Hart said and Ianto let out a snort at yet another pop culture reference from the once obtuse fifty first century man. “There would be a breakdown of time and space. Reality, as you and I know it, would collapse. What that’d look like is anyone’s guess. Up would become down. Forward would become back. Maybe all of time existing simultaneously or all of it collapsing into nothingness. No idea.”

“So there isn’t a way to save him?” Ianto asked, confused.

“I don't think so, no. But sometimes...” Hart shrugged. “You ever hear the expression, 'Nature abhors a vacuum'?”

Ianto nodded.

“Well, scientifically inaccurate phrasing aside, the universe abhors temporal paradoxes. Time has its own way of protecting fixed points so that the general outcome is the same. Sometimes, there's flexibility in the details, but I'm not a Time Lord. I can't see where the wiggle room may be. The fixed point might be Fish dying. In that case, there's no way to save him, because one way or the other, he needs to die. The fixed point could just be that _someone_ needs to die. Or it could be whatever he does to save humanity. In both of those cases, it's possible but while the universe wants to protect itself against paradoxes and major timeline alterations, the devil is also in the details.”

“What do you mean? It can't be both. Either there's flexibility or there isn't.”

“Ah, but it is. Time's funny that way,” he said. He sat there for a minute, as if considering then he said, “In the time I'm from, Fish is alive and well... but he's also whole.”

“Whole?”

“My Fish isn't missing his finger. In fact, he'd never been abducted like this.” Hart sighed. “There have already been changes. Who knows what the implications could be? Could something Fish does require the manual dexterity of all ten fingers? What if this experience damages his psyche? Or he leaves Torchwood? Or any of a million other things? We can't see it all and it's like playing a game where you don't know the players, the rules, what the pieces are or even what the board looks like except there’s no silver medal for second place and the consequences are like one player Russian Roulette with a semi-automatic pistol.” He put his leg down so that he was straddling the counter. He let his legs swing a little. “Fish is my best mate. I love him like a brother. I don’t want him to die but I'm also not going to try and save him. The stakes are too fucking high. Extinction is not something I’d go fucking around with for the sake of sentimentality. You lot get all bent out of shape when there are no more rhinos and endangered polar bears. Think about how deep a loss it is when it’s a sentient species fading into nothing? A whole people full of tradition, language, history, religion, music, and art? It’s an entire soul that just fades into nothingness. All for the sake of one life?” Hart gave a rueful shake of his head.

“What happens? How does Fish save us?” Ianto asked.

“Don't think I can tell you that, Eye Candy, if Jack didn't. The more information you have, the more dangerous it is. The human mind likes things a certain way. We like things to make sense. It's automatic for it to try and put things together and connect dots. But foreknowledge makes that a dangerous thing,” Hart said, leaning back and tapping the counter between his legs. “So our goal is to save Fish, right? When it gets closer and closer to the moment, and we think we have all the pieces and information we need to do that, our brain connects the dots and we take some action to save him. The problem is that dots we can't even see have an effect on the dots we can. An infinite number of variables inside of an infinite number of moments connected in an infinite number of ways. Time Agency rule numero uno? Stay the fuck out of time's way.” Hart let out an annoyed snort. “Jack's spent too much time around that bloody Time Lord.”

“Could The Doctor find a way?” he asked, hopeful.

“I hate to pop that bubble, but I’m sure the reason Jack hasn't asked him is because he knows the answer's going to be no. ‘He that is born to be hanged, shall never be drowned.’ Hart swung his leg back over and hopped off the counter. He put his hand on Ianto's shoulder and said, “I'm sorry you're burdened with this, Ianto. Truly, I am.”

Ianto looked up and gave Hart a weak smile. “Thanks.” He let out a disbelieving chuckle and a snort. Then he waved between the two of them and said, “I still can't believe this. You and me? Having a chat like mates.”

Hart smiled and laughed. “Well, I'm not as big of a cuntstain as I used to be. Now the me that's coming back round? He's still a scoundrel. And a cuntstain.”

Ianto let out a deep laugh. “Thanks, John. Really.”

“Any time, Ianto… before Jack shoves me into the freezer that is,” he said with a wink. He interlaced his fingers and stretched them up above his head, bending forward and back then side to side. Ianto heard his back pop and crack in a few places. “Now if you'll excuse me, a certain lovely lady requires my services.” Hart smiled at Ianto. “I know you've had the pleasure of my wife. And ex-partner. You know, you and I should...”

He took a few steps back towards Ianto who grinned and held up his hand, leaning away. “I'll pass, Captain.”

“Just liked the symmetry of it,” Hart said, with a one shouldered shrug. He turned back towards the door, waving over his shoulder at Ianto.

He rolled his eyes. “Good night, Captain.”

“Same to you, Eye Candy,” Hart said and waved as he left the room.

Ianto hated to admit that his talk with Hart made him feel better. He still didn't know how he'd manage to look Fish in the eye when this was all over. _If we get him back_ … an evil part of his mind snickered. Christ, Ianto had no idea how he’d look Henry in the eye tomorrow. The two men hadn’t even been married a year. Ianto sat there for a few minutes, dwelling on the loving relationship of his friends. They were so happy together. Their meeting was so serendipitous. It was as if fate had thrust them together. Ianto wondered what might’ve happened had he lingered at the bar that night. Would Henry have thought he and Fish were a couple and never approached? He let out a small snicker. _They might never even have met…_ He swallowed hard as his mind travelled towards a chilling realisation that was immediately followed by a wave of guilt. There was someone else whom Fish had never met.

He still didn't know that he had a son.

Ianto buried his face in his hands. “Cachu.”

 


	19. Chapter 19

Given what Cassie had said before he blacked out, Fish was very, very surprised when he opened his eyes. Every single inch of his body hurt but he was grateful for the pain. It meant he was alive. He had no idea how long he’d been unconscious but judging by how crusted his eyes felt, it had been a very, very long time. He tried to move his hands so he could rub away the crust but neither of his arms would cooperate and he didn’t feel as if he had the strength to do more than blink. So he blinked a few times, trying to clear them. Slowly, the darkened room came into focus.

It was nighttime. The lights in the room were out and it was dim but there was some light coming in from the windows and whatever was outside in the hallway. He turned his head and saw a tile wall. _Tile?_ This wasn’t the metal room that had been his prison. Was he in a hospital?

_A hospital?!_

Was he free? How did he get here? Had the team found him? Was it a dream? He felt too miserable for it to be a dream. If it was a dream, he liked to hope he’d dream of something better than a lumpy hospital bed and aching from head to toe. He blinked a few times, again. The light coming in from the windows was from street lights. The door to his hospital room was partially open, light from the hallway filtered in but it was dimmed. The sounds of the night shift personnel outside were low and soft. He wondered what time it was. His eyes felt dry and burned. His muscles were twitchy and weak. It didn’t feel like a dream. _Please, let it not be a dream. Please. Please. Please._

He rocked his head back and forth on the uncomfortable hospital pillow to remove the stiffness in his neck. He realised he was buried under a bunch of hospital blankets and had pillows shoved everywhere. When he looked around, he expected to find himself alone but there was Henry, asleep in the chair beside his bed. Tears immediately began falling down his cheeks as his heart leapt with joy. A sob escaped his lips and Henry jolted awake.

“Joe?”

Overcome, Fish couldn’t speak he just tried to reach out for his husband, desperate to feel him in his arms. For the first time, he realised he was restrained. His left hand hung from some sort of pole. The rest of his limbs were tied to the bed with padded cuffs. Fish immediately began struggling.

“Stop, Joe!” Henry said, trying to calm him. He leaned over the bed’s railing and put his arms around his husband. Fish immediately relaxed. “The restraints were necessary. You were struggling. I’ll summon a nurse to remove them.”

Fish tried to speak but it came out a wheezing croak. Dry didn’t begin to describe how his mouth felt. His tongue was cemented to the roof of his mouth with, well, he had no idea what. He started to weep and as he cried, the sobs came out as hacking.

“Shh, love, you’re safe,” Henry said. He smoothed Fish’s hair. “Thank God in Heaven you’re awake.”

“Water,” he managed to whisper. He yanked at the restraints again and Henry patted his shoulder. Keeping one hand in contact with his husband at all times, he poured some water into a cup and put the straw to his lips. “Sip. Only a little.”

Fish ignored him and sucked in a large mouthful. He swished it in his mouth and then swallowed it very slowly. He would rather have spat it out and swallowed a mouthful that wasn’t full of the fuzz from his teeth.

“Slowly, Joe!” he scolded. “You’ll make yourself sick.”

Henry took the cup away even though Fish attempted to chase the straw with his mouth. He cleared his throat and decided to try his voice again. “Henry…” It came out better than he thought. He cleared his throat again. He yanked at the restraints. “Why am I tied down? Get these bloody things off me!”

“You’ve been in and out of consciousness all day. Largely incoherent,” Henry said as he pressed the button for the nurse.

A nurse arrived with a doctor right behind him. Fish wondered where he’d seen both men before. They looked very familiar.

“Awake, are we, Doctor Fischer?” the doctor said. He turned to the nurse. “You can remove the restraints.” With a clipboard balanced on the end of the bed, he began, “I’m Doctor Simons. Your wound was severely infected, Doctor Fischer. You were dangerously close to sepsis and blood poisoning but your fever’s broken which is an excellent sign. Unfortunately, to control the infection, we had to remove a significant portion of your hand and your ring finger. We doubt we’ll have to amputate further.”

Alarmed, Fish turned to his husband. Desperately, he asked, “Where’s my wedding ring?”

Henry held up his own hand, showing his husband the double bands on his own finger. Fish closed his eyes with relief. He chided himself a little for the panic at the loss of the piece of jewellery. He was alive and safe and with Henry and that was all that mattered. He held out his right hand. “Can I have my ring back?”

“Of course, Joe,” he said, taking the ring off his own hand and placing it on Fish’s. “We’ll have to have it repaired. The swelling was so severe, they had to cut it.”

He stared at the damaged ring, tears welling up again. Unable to stop them, he began sobbing uncontrollably. He reached out and grabbed Henry’s shirt, tugging at it, hard.

As always, his husband understood what he wanted. Henry lowered the bed’s rail and climbed in beside him. He wrapped himself around Fish, tangling them together. Fish gripped Henry’s neck and buried his nose in his hair, breathing deep of what he'd thought he would never smell again. The shampoo, aftershave and clean cloth that filled his nose screamed Henry to him. He couldn’t stop the tears and he didn’t want to. The relief and joy at having Henry’s arms around him again was overwhelming. More tears coursed down his cheeks as he trembled in Henry’s arms. They laid in silence for a long while. Henry ran his hands over him gently, soothing them both with loving touch. He hadn’t even noticed the doctor or the nurse leave.

Fish shook his left hand, trying to dislodge it from the webbed apparatus that was holding it up. He wanted both arms around Henry. “Can you get this bloody thing off me?”

Henry sat up a bit and said, “It must remain elevated, Joe.”

He turned his head to look at the suspended hand. It was wrapped in a bandage but Fish could see there was significantly less of it than there'd been the last time he'd seen it. The question was on the tip of his tongue. He wanted to ask it although he already suspected the dreadful answer. He both did and did not want to know.

“Have you seen it?” he whispered.

Henry hesitated.

“Just tell me,” Fish insisted.

“Your surgeons were excellent. The amputation is noticeable though.”

“How long have I been here?” he asked.

“Just over a day. You have been incoherent for most of it,” Henry said, his voice choked with emotion. “The doctors insisted your hand required a complete amputation. I couldn’t…”

“Shh, it's okay. I'm fine. I'm going to be fine, Henry,” Fish said, softly. He tightened his arm around Henry. The parallel between his situation and Henry’s late husband, Matthew, was uncanny. That man had also undergone a surgical procedure that nearly necessitated the amputation of a limb. It had also been Henry’s insistence that had prevented it. Fish couldn’t imagine what Henry had been going through. He nuzzled his nose into Henry’s hair again. They'd both been through Hell.

“How’d you guys find me?” he asked, curious.

“Cassie made an error,” Henry said. “She was purchasing your food at Jubilee Pizza.”

Fish let out a rueful chuckle. _Of all the things..._

“Her knowledge of the city was limited.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “One of the employees mentioned seeing an unusual woman to Ianto. We followed her on the CCTV but lost her. Gwen did some impressive investigating. It took us a few days to locate you. Your fever was quite high and you were unconscious.”

“What happened to her?” he asked.

“We don’t know,” Henry replied. “You were alone when we found you. I’m certain the team is searching, but I’ve not been involved in that investigation at all.”

“What did she want with me?” he asked.

“There was some grudge with Jack,” he said, sadly. “He feels quite guilty.”

“Has he been by?”

Henry shook his head. “Not yet. They have been texting me regularly, inquiring about your condition. Jack wants you to take all the time you need, no matter how long, and requested you decide to spend some months away recuperating,” Henry said, tightening his arms. He said, cautiously, “I hope you will take it under serious advisement, Joe.”

Fish heard the pleading in his husband’s voice. Usually, this was a rough subject for them, but this time Fish didn’t argue. He didn’t even disagree. “I’m not going back to work any time soon.”

Henry let out a contented half sob. He held Fish tightly. "Sleep, Joe."

But he didn’t want to sleep. He wanted to stay awake and savour the feeling of Henry in his arms. But he was so tired and the stress and tension from his ordeal were finally draining away leaving him sapped of every ounce of energy. He nuzzled against Henry’s neck again and said, “I love you so much, Henry.”

“I love you too, Joe,” he replied.

He closed his eyes and was perfectly content to let the delicious scent of his husband lull him to sleep, but the nurse came in and drew some blood. He didn’t remember falling asleep, nor the sun coming up, but the room was now bright and full of sun.

Once the nurse was gone, his stomach gave a rumble. Henry smiled at him. “Let’s get you fed, love.”

He was famished. Surprised, there was a tray with a plastic covered plate on the rolling table. _When had that gotten here?_ He must have fallen asleep and not realised. He rolled the table towards him with one hand and lifted the lid off the tray. It was a bowl of broth that smelled revolting. He wondered if he should try to choke it down or not.

“Can you get me something better than that piss?” he asked.

“Your diet is restricted, love,” Henry said. He sat back, lifting a coffee cup to his lips.

 _When did he get coffee?_ He held out his hand. “Can I have a sip of that?”

Henry looked between him and the cup and said, “I do not believe that wise, Joe. The doctors said you are to be on a diet of clear liquids for today.”

“Oh, c’mon, Henry! I haven’t had coffee in _days_. Coffee is clear,” he said.

“There is cream in this.”

“Please?” Fish begged.

Henry relented, handing over the cup and Fish drank deeply. It wasn’t Ianto’s but it was warm and tasted vastly better than the foul broth smelled. Though it was probably the caffeine deprivation telling him that. “Thanks.”

His husband took the cup back and sat back down. “Is there anything you wish for me to bring you from home, Joe? I must stop back at the loft for a shower and fresh clothes.”

“Some food would be great,” he said then rolled his eyes at Henry's stern look. “How about a broth? What you make would be better than this piss. I’m not bloody eating that.”

“I did not want to be away so long,” Henry said, shaking his head. “And while I'm certain it is not palatable, I'm sure it is still nourishing.”

Fish rolled his eyes, wondering how broth, this foul smelling one or any other, could possibly be nourishing. “Why don’t you go home and get some sleep? In a real bed? You look exhausted. And something to eat.”

“I don’t wish to leave you on your own for too long.”

“I’m fine here, Henry,” he insisted. “You look about ready to drop. Please? For me?”

He agreed but was reluctant. “Are you certain you will be all right here on your own, Joe?”

“If these vampires let me sleep, I’ll be fine. Go,” he said. Then he felt a light twinge in his belly. “But before you go, help me to the loo.”

“I do not believe you should be out of bed, Joe,” Henry said.

“I can make it to the loo. I just need help with all this shite,” he said, waving at the various poles he was attached to.

With a defeated sigh, Henry lowered the bed rail. He carefully wheeled the poles around and held out his hands. Fish cautiously swung his legs out of bed, he was about to put his feet on the floor when he realised they were bare. “Check if there’s some of those socks in that drawer.”

Henry did find a pair of hospital socks, wrapped in plastic. He slipped the ugly things onto Fish’s feet. “Carefully, Joe. Perhaps I should summon a nurse to assist you.”

Fish shook his head. He tentatively touched one foot and then the other to the floor. Without lifting himself off the bed, he shifted only part of his weight to his feet, testing them. “No, it’s fine. It’s just a few bloody feet. I can make it.”

Henry had an iron grip on his arm as he stood. The ugly socks provided enough traction as Henry helped him across the floor. Manoeuvring the device holding up his arm and the IV pole was a challenge but they managed. Fish felt triumphant when they reached the doorway but a sudden wave of nausea stopped him in his tracks. He carefully breathed through his nose, trying to suppress the urge to heave.

“Joe?” Henry asked, concerned. “Are you all right? What’s the matter?”

“Okay, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.” He dry heaved. “Feel like I’m going to be sick,” Fish said, shaking his head. _Well at least I’m in the perfect place for it._ The next wave of nausea brought him to his knees. Henry’s grip was all that kept him from cracking his kneecaps on the tile.

“Joe!”

Several of the IV lines were pulled taut and his left arm was stretched upward as he swayed. This time he couldn’t hold back. He heaved, vomiting clear liquid all over the floor. When he opened his eyes, he expected to see sick but there was nothing. He could’ve sworn he’d felt liquid project out of his mouth and heard the wet splat.

Henry held him, but Fish could barely feel his hands on his shoulders. His voice, shouting for help, sounded far away. Another wave of nausea squeezed his eyes shut. Strange sensations were running through his hands. His left arm felt as if it were laying by his side but it also felt stretched up above his head. He could feel the IV lines pulling at the cannula in his arm, but also didn't feel them. The room was cold and comfortably warm all at the same time. The nausea worsened and Fish heaved again. This time, the strangest sensation of all began. He felt as if he were simultaneously kneeling and lying down on his side. It was impossible to describe. As the nausea subsided, Fish felt confident enough to try his voice.

“Henry…?”

When his husband didn't answer him, Fish blinked, looking around. He wasn't in his hospital room anymore. He was back in his prison, that metal room on the ship!

_NO!_

Was he having some sort of flashback? Did he have PTSD? It certainly wouldn’t surprise him. Being Cassie’s prisoner had certainly been traumatic enough. He couldn’t hear Henry shouting for the doctors anymore. He blinked as the nausea vanished completely. There was a puddle of slimy, foamy water in front of him and he was on his side. If it was a flashback, he had no idea how to stop it or what to do. He blinked, trying to ride it out. He didn't know much about PTSD and flashbacks. All he knew was that it would feel real.

This was certainly familiar. He was in the same metal room, laying on the sleeping bag. He felt a bit stiff and sore and his hand was in agony. It certainly felt real but the hospital room had felt real too. The laid there for a few moments. He was in a hospital room or a hospital bed, not in the cell, wasn’t he? If he tried to move, he could injure himself or someone else. So he laid still. He counted in his head, slowly, to pass the time. After a few minutes, he started to become confused and concerned. Certainly if this was a flashback it would’ve stopped by now?

His heart sank and dread settled into his belly like a lump of ice. This wasn’t the hallucination, the hospital had been. The emotional ruin began immediately. Fish’s heart broke and tears began to fall. _Henry…_ His mind, body and soul wailed. An even more vexing thought occurred to him. The loss of the hallucination was upsetting, but the fact that he was hallucinating at all was the real concern. Was the captivity breaking his psyche? Was he losing touch with reality? How would he tell the difference between reality and his hallucinations? A new brand of fear spread across him, plunging his hands and feet into icy clamminess and making his heart pound in his chest. _Am I losing my mind?_ He sat up and buried his face in his good hand as he let out a strangled sob.

“That took you long enough,” a female voice said from behind him.

He turned, moving carefully with his injured hand. When he saw Cassie, he kicked with his legs and found he was swaddled in the sleeping bag.

She raised her tail, stinger pointed at him. “Hallucinogen. You were completely baked, tripped out, high as a kite, seeing the pink elephants.” She stalked her way towards him.

“Now I know it won't kill you and how long you’ll be under. So it’s nighty night. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite. See you in twelve more hours.”

“No!” Fish shouted, holding up his hand.

The stinger buried itself in his chest and in a few minutes he lost consciousness again.

 


	20. Chapter 20

Ianto craned his neck, looking for Henry beyond the autopsy bay railing. He hissed, “I think this is a bad idea, Jack.”

“Henry’s too emotional about this,” the Captain insisted.

“Yesterday you said we were _all_ too emotional,” Ianto pointed out.

“Yeah, well, I thought it over and reconsidered. I am allowed to change my mind,” he said. He took his usual defensive stance, standing straight with his arms crossed over his chest and his chin jutting slightly.

“I think we should talk to him,” he insisted.

“Not a democracy, Yan.”

“It’s one thing to hide a bit of something in his tea but this?”

He might’ve been raising objections but he continued to prepare the sedative. Jack had already offered to do it himself, without Ianto's help but Jack had no idea what he was doing. The immortal man would've likely drawn up a random sedative at a random dosage. So, instead of Henry taking a nap for a few hours, he would end up dying from an overdose, waking up feeling like he'd been hit by a lorry instead of a touch groggy.

The sound of footsteps brought Ianto's gaze away from the syringe in his hand. He craned his neck again, but didn't see anyone coming. He asked, “Can you get me the vial of haloperidol?”

Jack opened up the pharmacy cupboard and just as he was about to reach into it, Ianto barked, “Do not shift those vials around! They’re alphabetical. Just read.”

He had been about to shift the vials to locate the proper one. He curled his hand into a fist to stop himself from touching them and slowly read the labels. After he’d located the proper one, he handed it to Ianto.

“That’s a strong one,” he commented.

“You said you wanted him out quickly. This combination will do that,” Ianto said, exasperated. He put the cap back on the needle, twirling the syringe in his fingers nervously. “Jack, are you sure-”

“Do you think he’d sit down here, calmly and quietly, while Fish is upstairs, injured, if we just ask?” Jack countered. He then said, sarcastically, “Because that's what I'd do if it was you.”

Ianto gave his husband “The Frown” and hoped it appropriately conveyed his level of annoyance. There was no need for such a surly attitude. Ianto knew the difference between orders and something up for debate. And this was an order. “Perhaps you should do it.”

“You're faster and he won't suspect you,” Jack said, waving off the syringe.

“He won't suspect me because I'm his friend, Jack. He's an immortal of the Game. What if he sees this as deceit? Or worse, a challenge?”

“Henry wouldn't do that,” Jack said, frowning.

“You hope,” he retorted.

“Fine. I'll do it,” Jack said, snatching the syringe from Ianto's hand. “Is it ready?”

“Yes, but I still think-”

“Henry!” Jack shouted. “Henry!”

Ianto shook his head, and threw his hands up momentarily in annoyance. It took the Duke less than a minute to appear. Speaking as if to a small child and for what was probably the thousandth time, he chastised, “Captain, we have discussed this. It is not necessary for you to bellow at such volumes, particularly at this hour of the morning. We do have a comm system.”

Jack smiled, as always ignoring him. “Could I get some coffee? And a jammy donut? Please?”

“I’ll bring them to your office,” Henry said, turning away. “It may take centuries, Captain, but I _will_ improve your manners.”

“Thank God we have centuries,” Ianto muttered under his breath.

After shooting Ianto a glare, Jack bounded up the stairs and once he was within reach of Henry, he buried the needle in the Duke's arm and blasted the sedative into the muscle. Henry hadn’t suspected a thing. Startled by the burn of the medication, he whipped around. He slapped Jack's hand away but the syringe was still jutting from his arm. He plucked it from his flesh, tossing it aside as if it were white hot. He glared at Jack, staggered forward and took a swing at the man. Ianto had chosen his medications well and they were already taking effect. In his drugged state, the punch completely missed and Henry stumbled forward. Jack caught him and said, “I’m sorry, Henry.”

Henry's next words were so slurred that neither Ianto nor Jack could understand them but they were both certain it involved a level of profanity they’d never heard from the Duke before. It was less than five more seconds before Henry was unconscious.

“Grab his legs, Yan. I want to put him in the first cell,” he said, hooking his arms under Henry's.

“What’s this, then?” Gwen asked. The former PC was just arriving and unsurprised that their butler was unconscious.

“Jack’s decided we should sedate Henry and lock him in a cell downstairs,” Ianto said, dryly. He bent down to take hold of Henry’s legs.

“Jack!” she scolded, giving him a stern slap on the arm.

Unwilling to have this argument again, with a harsh tone of finality, he said, “None of you were happy with my original decision to include Henry in the exchange. I changed my mind.”

“You drugged him, you did!” Gwen shouted.

The increase in volume drew an audience. The UNIT soldiers monitoring the rift were staring at them. Jack shot them all a glare and they averted their eyes. He looked at his team and said, “The decision has been made and carried out. It's not open for debate. Let's get him downstairs.”

Gwen managed the doors for the two men as they carried Henry downstairs. Jack slammed the cell door and stormed his way back up towards his office muttering something about no win situations.

“He’s going to be in a right state when he wakes up,” Gwen said, waving at the cell.

“I see what Jack means but we could’ve gone about this better than blindsiding him with a syringe full of sedatives like he was some sort of lunatic,” Ianto said, shaking his head.

“Jack’s under a lot of stress about this. Probably thought it was the easiest solution, he did,” Gwen pointed out. “He's always a bit more wound up when something goes wrong where Fish is concerned. Have you noticed?”

Ianto shook his head, feeling a knot form in his belly. _Observant and clever as ever, PC Cooper._

“Sometimes I wonder if it's because Miranda was so against Fish being here, kept saying how Torchwood wasn't for him. When something goes wrong with Fish, I wonder if Jack questions letting him stay on, even though he stepped up, he did. It could've been any of us who she snatched.”

Ianto nodded, but said nothing, not trusting himself. It was completely clear to him why Cassie had chosen Fish, but he couldn't say anything to Gwen. All the muttered conversations between Hart and Jack in Ekumen now made more sense. _Like a lot of things lately…_

“I'm going to get the kit together…” he said, looking upwards.

Gwen stood there for a few minutes, watching Ianto leave. Her spidey senses were tingling. It wasn’t like Ianto to stammer. Something was going on that she wasn't privy to and she didn't like that, not one bit.

*          *          * 

Ianto thought the hours until the exchange would become something of a watched pot but once he started his preparations, it didn't seem like enough time. The new knowledge about Fish was driving him mad. His mind kept trying to prepare for every eventuality, every possible variable or outcome. The first problem was the armoury. After the rest of the team had selected their usual weapons, Ianto went about arming himself but questioned all his usual choices. When he was done, he’d ended up with more weapons on his person than Miranda. It was uncomfortable and cumbersome so he scaled down and settled on his usual choice of the standard Torchwood issue sidearm.

The next stumbling block was the medical supplies. He changed the contents of the medical kit several times then would pack and repack it again and again, each time removing an item or adding several until the kit was near bursting and its insides barely recognisable. It was a good thing he had a near eidetic memory otherwise he never would remember what was in the thing or where anything was. He was in the middle of rearranging the kit when Jack had tapped him on the shoulder, frowning. He jerked his head to the lift. Ianto checked his watch. It was nearly time.

Once they were in their positions on the Plass, Ianto continued his checking and rechecking of everything. He flicked his gaze to his team members. Hart was up on the roof of the Millennium Centre with the fifty first century rifle. The energy pulse weapon was fully charged and ready. The entire plan was still shite as far as Ianto was concerned. To him there were far too many unknowns and they were making far too many assumptions.

The whole thing hinged on Hart's successful shooting of Jack. They also needed to prevent Cassie from escaping or reaching Jack’s body. The vortex manipulator didn’t require Jack to be alive or standing. Though no one thought Cassie would attempt to leave with Jack's body, they remained aware of the possibility. She could transport them both to anywhere or anywhen. Yes, they needed to get Fish back but they also couldn’t lose Jack. His vortex manipulator wasn’t working. He’d have no way to get home. If Cassie travelled into the past, it would be a simple matter of taking the slow road back to the present but it was highly unlikely she would travel into the past. If she went anywhen, it would be back to the fifty first century.

Hart would provide cover fire from above under the guise of attempting to attack Cassie. It was up to Gwen to give chase when Cassie fled. Hart would be helping her by providing direction from an elevated position. Ianto and Miranda were supposed to see to Fish’s injuries but it didn’t require both of them. They’d agreed that it would be best if Miranda, the fastest of them on foot, would also give chase while Ianto acted as medic.

But any concerns about Jack and Cassie were secondary, at least to Ianto. If it came down to Fish or Jack or capturing Cassie, Ianto’s choice was clear. Fish was paramount and nothing else mattered. He had no idea how Jack had kept this to himself for so long. The future of the human race hinged on Fish and Ianto found that responsibility nearly crushing. He thought of all the close calls that Fish had had over the years, some of which he'd been able to prevent and some he hadn't. It made so much clear. Jack nearly always paired himself with the Australian on field calls. While he occasionally allowed Gwen to see to field calls on her own, he never permitted Fish to do so. They'd always assumed it was due to Fish's bad knee or his more advanced age, but now Ianto knew the truth. He was amazed at how such a small piece of information could change how he viewed so many things.

There was nothing to do but wait and these sorts of thoughts consumed him, rotating around and around in his head. He took a break from his bouncing monkey mind by checking on everyone again. They had little over a half hour until the time Cassie had set. Jack was standing at the south end, the wind whipping his coat. Gwen was not in her car but was walking slowly up and down the Plass, pretending to be a tourist taking pictures. Miranda was smoking a cigarette by the railing, gazing out over the water. Ianto saw Hart up on the Millennium Centre roof, crouched low. The man had shed his bright red Napoleonic jacket and was wearing a more subdued dark grey t-shirt.

Kneeling down, Ianto checked through the medical supplies again even though he’d done it a few times already. After his numerous attempts at packing and repacking their standard medical kit, Ianto had decided to bring up two. He had one standard kit, in case Miranda needed something familiar, and a separate kit that he'd packed with additional supplies. Miranda had looked at him like he'd gone insane. Now that he was organising them again, she put out her cigarette and stepped over to him.

“If you hadn’t brought up half the medical bay, the kits wouldn’t be overflowing and you wouldn’t need to keep reorganising them. You won’t need most of those things.”

“I just want to make sure I have it all covered, Mandy,” he said.

“Goddess below, you do. And then some,” she replied, a little exasperated. She held out the pack of cigarettes. “Being prepared is one thing, but this level of over preparedness is ridiculous. You’ve made it difficult to sort through it all quickly and efficiently.”

Ianto looked at the overflowing kit and sighed. She had a point but he needed to be prepared. The idea of leaving any of the supplies behind had caused him unmanageable levels of anxiety.

“Are you all right, Ifan?” she asked.

“Yeah, fine, Mandy,” he replied.

“Take a breath. Would you like one?” She held out the pack of cigarettes.

He was about to refuse but reconsidered. He took out one of the cigarettes and she lit it for him. He inhaled the smoke deeply and coughed twice. The tingling feeling spread out into his fingers and he felt calm spread with it. “Thanks.”

“You’ve been quite distressed all day,” she said. “I know this is not the time, but if you need to talk-”

“I’m fine. I just…” He tried to think of how to word his feelings without giving anything away. He shook his head, unable to think of any reasonable or believable story.

She put her hand on his arm and squeezed. “I'm worried about him too.”

He gave her a tight smile and nodded.

She opened her mouth to say something else but their comm units all beeped loudly and Jack’s voice said, “Heads up people. Nearly go time.”

Ianto tossed the barely smoke fag aside. A large white van pulled up at the other end of the Plass and they all turned to face it. A man practically toppled out of the van, his hands bound in front of him – one bandaged. They all squinted, trying to tell if it was their friend.

“It's him, Jack,” Hart reported, his eye trained through the scope of his pulse rifle.

Apparently Cassie didn't care about appearances. She'd made no attempt to hide the face that Fish was dirty, bruised and clearly bound. Cassie came out of the van next, tall and lithe. She was clearly... off. There was something odd about her gait and the way she moved that would’ve been ignored by most, but it made Torchwood take notice. There was an odd sway to her hips, a strange way her shoulders moved along with the rest of her.

“I can’t give you a better idea on Joe’s status until they get closer,” Hart said.

“I want radio silence. Now. Everyone, off comms,” Jack snapped out. He turned to Ianto and Miranda, “Ianto move up with me. Will, circle slowly around to Gwen's position.”

“But-”

“That's an order, Will.”

Reluctantly, Miranda stepped back, tapping her comm unit to silence it. She disliked the lack of open communication. As she slowly walked towards Gwen's position, she held silent communication with the woman. Ianto could tell from the exchange that Gwen was just as annoyed as Miranda but that the two were willing to let it go for now.

Cassie continued to walk forward, moving past the water tower as Jack also walked towards her. Ianto picked up one of the medical kits and followed him at a fair distance. Her eyes weren't on anything but him. They stopped a fair distance apart from each other. Gwen continued her slow meandering walk up towards their position, occasionally pausing. Neither woman was being subtle. Both were staring directly at Cassie who was ignoring them. Either Cassie didn't consider them a threat in the slightest, or she was concentrating on Jack too intently to notice them. Ianto was having trouble deciding which it was. Jack turned and signalled for Ianto to stay where he was. He set down the medical kit and unbuttoned his suit jacket.

“Cassie,” Jack called out.

“Jax,” she said back.

“Fish? You all right?” Jack asked.

The Australian gave him a one shouldered shrug but said nothing.

“We’ll get you out of this, Fish,” Jack said.

“It’s time to settle up, Jax,” Cassie said, narrowing her eyes. “You think you can toss people aside? Use them? You’re wrong.”

Ianto tilted his head, the conversation drawing him in with curiosity. What was she talking about? Ianto didn't know anything about Dromanians, but if she was lying, she was a damned good actress. There was genuine hurt behind her words. And the way she was looking at his husband made jealousy stir in his belly.

Jack, on the other hand, wanted nothing more than to get this exchange done quickly. “I don't know what you're talking about, Cassie. So how's about you send Fish my way and I'll start heading to you.”

“You expect me to believe you don’t remember?” she asked, angry and painful. “What a crock, bunch of bollocks, codswallop, bull.”

“I've never said more than three words to you. Give me Joseph Fischer. Now,” he said, putting his hand on his Webley.

“Not even an apology.” She turned her had and spat on the ground.

Jack leaned back. That was a high insult. He couldn't help but bite back, “Remember what? Why don’t you explain it to me then?”

“Wixson's transfer. He got Isco-Tha and you got me,” she explained. “How can you not remember? Two years! We were together for nearly two years!”

Jack tilted his head, giving her a sideways glance. He didn’t remember any of that. At all. He pushed back into his memory, trying to pull up a time when he and Hart hadn't been partners. His mind settled on a black space in his mind. _Oh Gods…_

“The Agency stole my memories!” he shouted, as much in realisation as telling her. “How long were we partners?”

“A year and a half,” she said, confused. This clearly wasn't what she was expecting. “You really don’t remember?”

“No!”

“We were partners. Friends. Then... more... We had plans... a future, together. I told my family about us,” she said softly and Jack gasped. She shook her head, looking sad. Then her face hardened and she yelled, “I gave up everything for you!”

“Oh Gods,” Jack whispered. Dromanians were notorious xenophobes. Interspecies relationships were highly taboo. They saw it as polluting themselves. To tell her family about them would mean that Cassie would be exiled from her homeworld.

“I don’t remember, Cassie! The Agency took two years of my memories!”

She took half a step back, recoiling. “You don’t remember us at all? Nothing?”

“I’m sorry. I'm so sorry,” he said and he was. He took another step forward, forcing himself to forget his husband was standing behind him. He reached out his hand and said, softly, “We can talk. We can start again. Let me make it right. I want to remember. Everything. Us.” He took a few more steps closer to her. “Why don't we talk?”

She pushed lightly at Fish's back, and he began to slowly walk towards Ianto. Jack swallowed. It was working. Under the guise of scratching his head, he turned his comm unit back on. He muttered as loudly as he dared, “I need her _alive_.”

When Jack lifted his head again, Fish was already past him. He didn't try to look back. He took another step and then another towards Cassie, bracing himself for the shot he knew was coming.

Ianto pushed aside what he'd just learned and focused on Fish. The Australian was walking slowly towards him, swaying slightly. He looked beaten and bruised. His eyes didn't focus on anything. He paused after only a step or two and then would start again. After a moment, Ianto realised that something was very, very wrong. It should've taken Fish mere seconds to walk to him, yet almost a full minute had passed. And he didn't seem to be getting any closer.

 _A force field?_ he wondered.

Before he could alert Jack or anyone else to the fact that something was wrong, Hart fired. The pulse rifle was an energy weapon but the small balls of energy it fired acted like bullets. The bright, yellow ball of light flew through the air with a deep warble. It hit Jack in the back of the head and burned its way through his skull and his face. His head still smoking, Jack dropped to the ground.

Cassie let out a scream, her face contorted in horror and grief. She bolted forward, pressing her hands into Jack's ruined face as she screamed. Another shot rang out and it brought her to her senses. She looked in the direction the shot had come and saw Hart holding the pulse rifle. She let out an angry hiss and turned, simultaneously opening her vortex manipulator. Fish hadn't reacted to Jack's death at all. He was still walking towards Ianto and not getting any closer. Ianto ran for Fish to prevent Cassie from attempting to recapture her prison. When he went to seize Fish's arm, he gripped nothing but air. He shouted, “Hologram! It’s a hologram!”

Now, capturing Cassie now became their highest priority. They needed her alive more than ever so that she could lead them to Fish. Ianto began to run in Cassie's direction also but no sooner had he begun to join Gwen and Miranda in the pursuit than Cassie slammed her hand down on the vortex manipulator, and vanished.

 


	21. Chapter 21

Andy Davidson pulled a face as he sipped the stone cold coffee. _What is it about coffee that's gone cold and not coffee that's started out cold?_ He wondered. He also wondered what he was doing here. _Guess the old copper in me couldn’t resist_ … he said to himself but immediately scoffed. _No, you're just pathetic enough to think it might be something this time_.

Ever since he'd left the South Wales Police, Andy'd been looking for something to get him out of the family restaurant. His folks hadn't thought him the sort for the police but he'd been determined and he'd been good at it. After bombs had exploded all over the city and strange creatures had emerged from the sewers, Andy had received a quick promotion to sergeant. At first, he'd been thrilled but suspicions brewed quickly that his promotion had been to buy a measure of silence from him. It'd all started when he'd aced the detectives’ examination but had been denied the promotion. When he was moved sideways into a job as a paper pusher, it became clear he'd never make detective inspector and he'd had enough. He was more than that.

He'd always passed along anything to Gwen that he thought may be one of her spooky-dos. Sure, not all of them panned out... okay, none of them had panned out since Jonah Bevin, but that didn't mean Andy didn't keep trying. The city was full of strange and unusual happenings. Every time Andy passed a possible spooky-do case to Gwen, he asked about openings at Torchwood. He thought he'd handled the bombs and sewer creatures quite well and he was a fast learner and a hard worker.

Lately, he had to admit he was more desperate because he did not want to keep working at the restaurant. His parents had been muttering about retiring and having him take over the business and if that happened, Andy would be really stuck. He still couldn't believe he'd had to swallow his pride and ask his father for a job. It was like he was a bloody teenager. He'd sworn that he'd never work there when he was all grown up, but he had to make ends meet somehow. At least his Mum and Tad hadn't been smug about it or said, 'I told you so' when he'd left the police.

He had to admit that the job had put him in the right place at the right time. After delivering the lunch rush sandwiches, he'd gone into Jubilee Pizza for something to eat. Sure, his Mum had packed him a sandwich but a bloody sandwich was the last fucking thing he'd wanted. He'd been tucking into his second slice when the odd, rude woman had walked in. She'd jumped the queue and acted bizarre. She hadn't even known what to order. She'd just pointed at the picture menu and then dumped random money onto the counter. Andy had assumed she was some badly mannered foreigner and had dismissed it. What had been harder for him to dismiss was the ugly van he’d seen her get into that had been missing its driver’s seat.

The whole thing was very queer to Andy and the old copper in him had decided to investigate. He'd followed her to the Penarth Marina. He hadn't seen anything strange or unusual but something in his gut told him to wait and watch. So that's what he'd done. He'd told his parents he'd be taking some days off. They hadn't been too keen on it but Andy hadn't cared. Because anything, absolutely anything, was worth the possibility of him getting the hell out of there and finding a different line of work. He felt like he had nowhere else to go but Torchwood. He hadn't been able to find anything in private security. He'd gotten his private investigators' licence but had no prospects there either. He suspected higher ups at the police of sabotage.

So, he'd spent them sitting in the car park, waiting for the dilapidated white van to return and it had. This strange woman was the closest thing he had to a spooky-do in months. Yesterday, he'd almost phoned Gwen to tell her he had another case, but seeing the strange woman driving a van without a seat wasn't proof positive that this was some sort of spooky-do. There could be a perfectly logical explanation for the seat missing. He'd been trying to follow where she'd gone once she'd gotten onto the docks, but he hadn't been able to sort that yet. Every time he'd followed her, she'd vanished before he could see which boat she was boarding. He'd blamed himself and his caution. He'd been parking on the far end of the lot, away from where she usually parked the rusting van. Today, he'd been bolder. He'd parked a few spaced away from the entrance. If she saw him, so what? There could've been a thousand plausible explanations of why he was at the marina this late in the season.

He sipped the cold coffee again, grimacing at it. He opened up the lid and stared down into the liquid trying to decide whether or not to pour it out. It was vile. He didn't want to leave to get another cup but he couldn't carry on drinking this one. He opened the door and poured it out over the pavement. Just as he was sitting back up, heard the distinctive sound of a high pitched whine. It was the old white van. Actually it was an old white van, it wasn't _the_ old white van he'd been seeing. This one had a broken window and a rusted dent in the driver's door.

As usual, the strange woman parked it illegally and got out. This time, she looked agitated and in a terrible rush. Usually, she looked about carefully to make sure no one was following her. Today, she got out of the van and strode across the car park without a second glance. Andy dropped the half emptied coffee cup, and feeling a surge of bravery, he bounded after her. He maintained a safe distance as he followed her. He'd attempted this a few times, pursuing her after she'd gone into the dock area but each time, she'd vanished into thin air on him. Now he had her in his sights. He tried to keep his footfalls as gentle as possible. Keeping pace with her, he followed at a respectable distance and did his best to look like a bloke that belonged there. He kept his head down and walked with an even pace, putting up the facade that he had a destination and knew his way around. Hopefully, he'd see which boat she was visiting.

He doubted his eyes when he saw her step onto a gangway where there was no boat. Or rather, a gangway that disappeared into thin air. He thought he'd lost his mind when she walked up it and vanished from sight.

 _This_ was a spooky-do. It was the spooky-do he'd been waiting for!

He jogged over to the gangway. It was like something out of the movies. The gangway disappeared into nowhere. There was nothing but a worn trainer sitting at the bottom. Andy reached into his pocket and took out his notepad. After tearing off a sheet of paper, he crumpled it and tossed it to where the gangway should be. The ball of paper vanished.

 _Woah_ … _Well, here goes nothing_ … he thought as he took a step forward. What was the worst that could happen? He fell into the bay and got a bit wet? She’d gone through, hadn’t she?

When he stepped onto it, it seemed solid enough. He picked up his foot at the end of the gangway, expecting to take a dip in the cold water. But his foot impacted something solid and when he opened his eyes, Andy found himself… somewhere else. Not wanting to tip off his quarry, he picked up the small ball of paper and put it into his pocket. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the paint-like water. Then he stood up and looked at the sky. Alarmed, he turned and didn’t see the dock he came from.

He nearly cried out but instead took a few steps back away from the water and stumbled. He scrambled onto the deck and pressed himself against the wall of the bridge. That was when the scent of decaying flesh reached his nose. A police constable never forgot that smell. He cupped his hands and look into the window, seeing the bodies within and suddenly felt like he was in way over his head.

Just then, he heard the sound of footsteps. He crouched down just as the strange woman appeared.

_Is that a bloody TAIL!?_

She was wiping the stinger on the billowy leg of her trousers. He saw her adjust the band around her thin waist, pulling them up and that was when he had to stifle another cry of surprise.

Her feet! They weren’t feet at all! They reminded him of the two toed feet of an ostrich or some other large bird. Andy’s grin became wider.

When she'd stepped off the boat and back to the dock – God Andy hoped it was back to the dock – he decided stood up. He cupped his hands again, counting the bodies in the navigation room. There were three. He felt badly but there was nothing he could do for them. He mind began to form so many questions. From what Andy could tell, he wasn't in Cardiff anymore. There was no ocean on earth that looked like this one so he could only conclude he was on an alien world and that this woman had, somehow, managed to transport this ship here while still maintaining a portal back to Cardiff.

The whole thing made no sense to Andy. There were too many missing pieces. He walked over to the doorway determined to step inside and explore the ship. There could be someone alive here, maybe hiding from that woman. He opened the door and immediately shut it again. He staggered back a few steps so fast that his back hit the railing.

“Ach-y-fi!” he shouted, as he threw his arm over his nose. The stench was overpowering and he took a couple of deep breaths through his mouth as his nose burned. The ship was a small transport vessel – much too large for the fishing boat moor it was tied to back in Cardiff. If most or all of the crew were dead, the interior would have filled with all manner of noxious fumes from the decomposing bodies. Guiltily, Andy shut the door. He wasn't going in there. He decided to amass as much information as he could from the deck of the ship. He took as many pictures with his camera phone as he could.

He took out his mobile, not surprised that there wasn’t a signal. Feeling pretty satisfied, he stepped back onto the gangway and walked towards the water. He smiled when he ended up back on the dock in Cardiff, wobbling a little from the strangeness of planting his foot somewhere he couldn't see. He brought up Gwen's number from his contacts list. “Hello, Gwen. Ring me back when you get this, yeah? I got one hell of a spooky-do for you, I do.”

When he looked down at the trainer, he saw there was a spot of blood on the sole. Andy wondered if someone had escaped the boat. _Or it could be nothing_... It might not be blood at all. He picked the trainer up by the laces and walked back to his car. He turned it in his hands, looking at the dried blood on the sole and the few odd droplets on the top and the laces. He put it into a plastic bag and started his car. He hoped Gwen rang him back soon because he definitely had a bad feeling about it.

*          *          *  

“Oi! Anybody home?” Andy shouted as he banged on the Tourist Office door with his fist and kicked it with his foot. The foreboding feeling had grown in him throughout yesterday. It was the blood stained trainer that had gotten him. He’d even spoken to a bloke he was still friendly with in forensics who’d snuck him a blood test kit. The stain on the trainers was blood and it was human. It could’ve been nothing, someone cutting themselves by accident but the bad feeling in Andy’s gut had grown. He’d sent Gwen texts and left some more messages on her answer phone but he still hadn’t heard back from her.

Today he hadn’t been able to get out of delivering the lunch rush. His Mum had begged him because his father’s eyesight wasn’t what it used to be and the other delivery person had cried off sick. By the time he was done with the lunch deliveries, he’d decided to head down to Torchwood and see if he couldn’t speak with her. It seemed like a great idea at the time but it was turning out to be more problematic.

He'd been banging at that door for a bloody hour. Since no one was answering, he decided to wander around the Millennium Centre car park, searching for the distinctive SUV. The car park was almost completely empty and he saw no sign of the SUV anywhere. He kept telling himself he should give up and just ring again or wait for Gwen to get in touch with him but the dreadful feeling was twisting Andy’s gut.

 _Didn't think they'd go parking out in the open, did you?_ he thought with a sigh. Why couldn't anything involving Gwen Cooper Williams be easy?

He walked back above ground and circled back to the Tourist Office door. It was still locked, and still no one was answering. Looking around, he spotted the CCTV camera pointed at the door. He waved his hands and shouted a few times. He even picked up a few pebbles on the ground and tossed them at it with no luck.

Frustrated, he resumed banging on the doorway while beneath his feet, Torchwood continued their search for Fish. Unfortunately, Gwen was engrossed and she hadn’t bothered checking the numerous texts and messages from Andy. Oh, she knew they were sitting on her phone but she assumed they could wait, that it was just silly old Andy trying to toss her another dead end case. The last one had been a real laugh – some sort of hoax some kids had concocted about an alien. She was doing her best to ignore her mobile but even though it was on vibrate, the buzzing was interrupting her concentration. After yet another double buzz, she let out an annoyed huff and picked the phone up.

 _Going on bloody silent, you are,_ she said to herself.

She didn’t even want to take the time to answer Andy just to tell him that she was occupied and would see to whatever imaginary case he’d discovered when she had a chance. To her utter shock, when she saw the screen, there were nearly two dozen text messages and almost ten answer phone messages in the past two hours! Guilt immediately flooded her. She shifted in her seat and felt a twinge in her bladder. If she was going to use the loo, she may as well listen to the messages while she did. _Two annoying birds with one stone._ While she walked towards the washroom, she began to play the messages.

_Hello, Gwen. Ring me back when you get this, yeah? I got one hell of a spooky-do for you, I do._

She rolled her eyes. It was what she suspected. The man thought he’d caught a case. With a sigh, she unfastened her trousers and sat down on the loo, moving on to the next message.

_Hi Gwen. It’s me, Andy. Look, I have something that may be one of your spooky-dos. It’s just not right and I think it’s important. Ring me back as soon as you get this._

After she cleaned herself up and righted her clothing, she decided not to even listen to most of them. She deleted a few of them and then played one that was left last night. _Three in the bloody morning?!_

_Gwen. It’s me Andy. I know you’re busy and think that silly old Andy is full of nonsense, but I need you to read your bloody text messages and ring me back as soon as you get this. I don’t care what time it is._

It wasn’t the content but the distressed and anxious tone to Andy’s voice that caught her attention. Andy was never flustered like that.She skipped to the last message, letting it play while she washed her hands.

_Gwen, I’m outside the Tourist Office. Will you please check your fucking phone and stop bloody ignoring me! Not now in a minute, fucking NOW!_

In all the years Gwen had known Andy, she’d never heard him speak like that. She dried her hands quickly and went back to her desk. She brought up the video for the Tourist Office, and there was Andy, banging on the door in between waving at the camera. Feeling badly, she stood up and headed upstairs.

When she got there, the sound of Andy hammering at the door filled the room. She was surprised he hadn't decided to break the thing down! She stepped out of the hidden hallway and opened the door. Andy burst inside.

“ _FINALLY!_ You lot have got to install a bloody doorbell!” he shouted. He rounded on Gwen. “Thanks for letting me know where I stand! Left a dozen messages on your answer phone, I did! I don’t fancy being ignored!”

Gwen looked sheepish and said, “Andy, look, I’m sorry. One of the team's gone missing and-”

Andy’s mouth dropped open. The whole situation finally became clear. He said, “I know where he is!”

 _“WHAT!?”_ Gwen shouted.

“A few days ago I saw this tall, thin thing of a woman at Jubilee Pizza. She was odd, like Torchwood odd,” he said. He took out his mobile telephone and brought up the pictures he’d taken. “I followed her to Penarth Marina. She’s got a boat there, docked but it’s invisible.”

Gwen snatched the phone from Andy's hand.

“Oi, be my guest!”

“Oh my God, that’s Cassie,” Gwen breathed. If she’d answered Andy’s messages yesterday…

“You’ve been on this boat?”

Andy pulled out the plastic bag out from his rucksack. “Yes, and I found this.”

Gwen took it from him, turning it over in her hands. She immediately noticed the blood on the sole. “Oh my God.”

She had no idea if it was Fish's or not. She'd have to show it to Henry. At the least they could get DNA off of the blood. “I’m sorry I ignored you. I shouldn’t have done. Thank you, Andy.”

“Oh now you're sorry? Now that you know it's important to you, eh?” he snapped. “Look, I know how you see me – silly old Andy, always trying to find his spooky-dos, always trying to get on Torchwood's good side. That’s how everyone’s seen me. My parents didn’t think I had what it took to be in the police, told me I’d wash out. And here I am, yeah? Washed out.” He shook his head. “Let me help.”

“Andy, I don’t know if that’s a good idea. This all can get very rough,” she said, winding up.

She had her hand up and sounded like a mother speaking to a wayward child. Andy was having none of that.

“No, Gwen, I'm not having it this time,” he said. He folded his arms and gave her a piercing look.

Gwen chewed at her lip and then sighed. “C’mon then.”

She turned towards the hidden door and he followed. They both got onto the lift and it descended down. Andy tried to contain his excitement as the lift stopped and it opened to reveal the cogwheel door.

_This is it!_

His excitement evaporated once he saw Jack Harkness standing in the doorway looking very cross. “Gwen? Care to explain?”

The UNIT soldiers shifted, looking uncomfortable.

“Stay right here, Andy,” she said, then left him to join Jack. She leaned over, whispering in his ear.

Andy watched as Jack's expression turned from curiosity to surprise to focus. She held up the bagged trainer. He nodded to her once and then turned to Andy and said, thunderously, “Mr. Davidson, you have information as to the whereabouts of one of my team members?”

“Err,” he said, surprised at the immediate interrogation. “Aye, I do.”

Jack craned his neck. “Anyone seen Henry?”

“He's in the Archive, seeing to the maintenance backlog,” Ianto replied.

“Leave him to it for now. Mr. Davidson will be briefing the rest of us.” He tossed the bagged trainer at his husband. “Start DNA on that. Boardroom in five, everyone.”

Andy's jaw dropped.

“Flies, Andy,” Gwen teased. She patted his arm and said, “Careful what you wish for.”

The eagerness from before had done a complete turnaround. Now his feet felt like lead and his stomach was a pit of nerves. Brief the team? How was he going to brief anyone on anything? All he had were a few pictures on his phone and a trainer in a bag! He remained rooted on the spot until Gwen sharply dug her finger into his ribs as she passed him on her way to the boardroom. He hurried after her. She took her seat at Jack's left. The Torchwood captain was at the head of the table, sitting in his chair, giving Andy an impatient look. The man in the suit to Jack's right Andy had seen from time to time along with the Asian woman at the foot of the table. Andy swore the man in the red jacket next to her was leering at him. There was a single empty seat that he assumed belonged to the missing team member. Andy racked his brain, trying to think of the name and the face but he couldn't. _Finn? Fitz? No. Something with an F. Fitch? Fish? No that's ridiculous._

“Mr. Davidson,” Jack said, sharply.

Andy snapped his head up and out of his thoughts.

“Whenever you're ready,” he urged.

“Uhh, right. Right. Sorry,” he said. He took a step towards the empty chair, wondering whether or not he should take it. He felt too on display just standing there. He cleared his throat and sat. “Right. Two days ago, I was having lunch at Jubilee. That's when I saw...” He looked at Gwen. “What did you say her name was?”

“Cassie,” Jack supplied.

“Right, Cassie.” He took out his mobile phone and put it down on the table. He opened up his pictures and then handed it to the woman next to him. Instead of passing the phone around, as he’d intended for her to do, she put it down on the table and then tapped the table’s edge a few times. The picture on his screen was immediately enlarged and displayed across the table top. He recovered from his surprise quickly. “Anyhow, she jumped the queue and was acting rudely. She dumped her money at the poor bloke at the till and pointed at the menu. I thought she might be foreign.”

Hart let out a snort. “You've no idea how foreign, mate.”

“Right. So, just happened she was leaving same time I was. I saw her get into this white van. Nothing too strange about that but when I had a look, I saw there was no driver seat.”

Miranda looked at Hart, “Modified transport.”

There were mutters around the table and Andy said, “I thought it was odd so I followed her to Penarth Marina.”

“Why are we just hearing about this now?” Hart asked. “You said you saw her two days ago?”

“It was odd but I wasn't sure it was 'spooky-do' odd,” he said, making quotes in the air. “So I staked out the marina. I wanted to see which boat she was visiting but it was hard to follow her. She was always vanishing, she was. Anyhow, yesterday afternoon, she came ploughing into the car park in a different van. She was distracted, nervous like. I was able to follow her this time.” He looked at them and said, “Do you have a map of the marina?”

Ianto leaned forward and tapped the tablet in front of him. The boardroom table split, displaying the picture of Cassie on one half and a map of the marina on the other.

“Right. Thanks.” He assumed the table functioned like a normal touch screen and he was right. He used his hands to rotate and enlarge the image. “So I followed her at a safe distance – didn't want to arouse her suspicions. She stopped at this moor here but there wasn't any boat. Then I saw her step off the dock and vanish into bloody thin air. When I went over, I saw this gangway. Well, half a gangway. The end was on the dock and the other end was vanishing into nothing. I must've walked past it a dozen times and never noticed. I tossed a piece of paper at it and it – the paper not the gangway – disappeared so I thought if the paper made it, maybe I could too. I took a chance, I did, and stepped over.”

“You had no way of knowing whether or not the paper had 'made it' anywhere, Mr. Davidson,” Miranda said, sternly.

“Aye, I suppose. But nothing ventured, nothing gained. I walked onto the gangway and stepped to where it should've been. And there I was, on another bloody planet.”

“So Fish isn't on Earth anymore,” Gwen said, frowning.

“No,” Andy said. He swiped on his mobile and the picture on the table changed to one of the strange sky. “The boat is a large commercial vessel – way too big for the moor it's at. I've no idea how she's done it.”

“Did you explore the ship?” Jack asked.

Andy shook his head. “No, I tried but all of the crew are dead and have been left laying about. I tried to get into the navigation room but the smell was overpowering. When I left the ship, I saw that trainer at the end of the gangway. I didn't notice it on the way in. The blood made me concerned.”

“You’re positive it’s blood?” Miranda asked.

Andy nodded. “A mate of mine in forensics gave me a test kit. Positive for human blood.”

“DNA is running,” Ianto said. Frowning, he asked, “You said this was yesterday?”

Gwen cleared her throat. “That's my fault, Ianto.”

“Mine as well,” Andy said. “Don't blame Gwen. I've been the boy who's cried wolf a lot lately. She had no reason to think whatever tip I had would pan out.”

Jack held up his hand. “Whatever the oversight, we know where Fish is now. We need to strategize a rescue and capturing Cassie.”

Ianto leaned over to Andy and asked, quietly, “Do you have any more pictures of the ship?”

“I do,” he said, tapping his phone.

Ianto stopped him, tapping at the tablet in front of him. Andy watched as the pictures on his phone appeared on the table in front of everyone. Everyone began swiping through the pictures, enlarging and rotating them as they saw fit.

“Ianto? Can you get a schematic for this ship?” Jack asked.

“Yes, sir,” Ianto said as he tapped the tablet a few more times. The schematic appeared in front of every seat at the boardroom table. Every one of the Torchwood team leaned forward, examining it closely.

“The ship is the _Stowe,_ a container ship,” Ianto said, tapping at his tablet. An image appeared on the screen. “It’s one of the smaller types, probably so Cassie can manage her easier. There’s a crew of about twenty.” He tapped again and Andy’s pictures appeared in the middle of the table.

“What other intelligence do you have, Mr. Davidson?” Jack asked.

Andy stood up and leaned so he could reach his pictures in the centre of the table. “Pictures of the planet's sky and the body of water – if it is water – in panoramic format. Pictures of the boat deck and as much of the outside I could get above the surface without dropping my phone.”

“I don't recognise the planet,” Hart said, dragging the panoramic to him. “Do you, Jack?” He touched the picture and then flicked his finger in Jack's direction, moving the image to Jack.

“The colour isn’t very true to life,” Andy said. “The sky’s more yellow, like light caramels and the sea is rusty, not brown. It was thick, almost like paint. It left a film on the boat.”

Jack and Hart looked back and forth at each other, shaking their heads and shrugging. “It doesn’t sound familiar to either of us but it could be anywhere.”

“Or anywhen,” Ianto pointed out.

“Well it must be something that supports human life,” Miranda said. “That should narrow it a fair amount.”

“Doesn’t have to be. Given what he's saying,” Hart said, jerking his head towards Andy, “it's probably time current. It sounds like Cassie's created a pocket of Earth on this planet. Sort of like pushing your finger into a bread dough. The atmosphere might not be compatible but whatever she’s done to push the boat into that world is keeping the local atmosphere out. That sort of technology requires a lot of energy. To do it across time? That's a horse of a different colour.”

“Is there any danger from backflow?” Ianto asked, furrowing his brow. “Do we need to worry about that planet’s atmosphere ending up in ours?”

Jack shook his head. “If she’s using the technology we think she is,” he said as Hart nodded, “then it’s self-contained. If the connection is severed, the boat will reappear back here. Worst case? When the bubble pops, the local atmosphere will invade the boat and the connection to this planet will sever simultaneously.”

“And Fish will die if that atmosphere isn't compatible with human life,” Miranda said, shaking her head.

Everyone dropped into silence and Jack cleared his throat. He asked Andy, “What else do you have for us?”

“She also comes and goes on a regular schedule. Every twelve hours she comes back, stays for maybe five, ten minutes, and then leaves.”

“Probably to deliver food and water,” Miranda said.

“The past few times she hasn't had anything like that with her, but I've seen her with cases of water and whole pizzas,” Andy pointed out.

Jack turned the schematic in front of him. “She could have him in any one of these rooms. We'll have to do a thorough search, deck by deck.”

Hart cast Jack a nervous look and Jack nodded at him.

“We need to be especially careful. Cassie is a fully trained and highly skilled Time Agent. Every inch of this ship could be a trap,” he said.

“Which is why you and I are going in first,” Jack said.

Miranda opened her mouth to protest but Jack cut her off. “Warder's Orders don't apply here, Will, we need fifty first century eyes to look for fifty first century booby traps. End of discussion.”

Hart tapped the back of her hand and she met his gaze. They shared a wordless communication and she nodded, once.

“Once John and I have cleared the way, Will, you and Ianto can follow behind us,” he said.

“What about Henry?” Ianto asked.

“I'll talk to him when we're done here,” Jack said. “Gwen? We'll need you up top, keeping a look out in case Cassie comes back ahead of schedule.”

“What will I be doing?” Andy asked.

All eyes swivelled towards him, looking at him as if they'd all only just remembered he was even there. He held Jack's gaze and said, strongly, “I just broke your case wide open, I did. I'm going too.”

Jack stared at Andy for a few seconds, narrowing his eyes and considering. Without breaking their stare, he said, “Gwen, Mr. Davidson is your responsibility. What time is she due back aboard?”

Andy held Jack's gaze for another heartbeat, breaking it only to look down at the clock on his phone. “If she's kept to that, then she's gone. We’ve probably only just missed her.”

Jack stood up. “This is a good window. We'll use it. I want all of you to study this schematic. Commit as much of it to memory as you can. Brainstorm on a plan to capture Cassie. Alive. I'm going to go talk to Henry.”

He walked out of the boardroom and Andy jumped up to follow him. He caught Jack by the arm and said, “I want to help as much as I can. Is there anything else I can do?”

Jack turned, and deadpanned, “Yeah. Don't get yourself killed.”

 


	22. Chapter 22

When Henry had woken in the cell earlier, he'd been livid. After a spectacular tantrum where he’d tossed the bunk’s bedding about the cell and slammed his fists into the glass wall, breaking it – his hand not the wall – he'd settled down and patiently waited for someone to let him out. The look on Ianto's face had told him all he needed to know.

Ianto had explained about the hologram Cassie had used to deceive them and how she had escaped. Even worse, he also told him how they were no closer to finding his husband than they were yesterday. Oh, Ianto hadn't said that precisely but Henry could read between what his friend was and was not saying.

Wordlessly, he'd gone upstairs and begun cleaning. He’d avoided the team and the UNIT soldiers, not even making eye contact as he’d served the coffee. He’d managed to order and serve lunch without speaking more than a handful of words. Everyone had given him a wide berth while simultaneously being comforting. One of the UNIT soldiers, he'd forgotten her name, had put her hand on his arm and given it a comforting squeeze. Overwhelmed and numb, Henry began blindly moving from mundane task to mundane task, everything perfunctory.

Finally, out of things to do upstairs, he'd turned to the long backlog of archive maintenance. When he'd gone downstairs to change, finally alone and incapable of standing it any longer, the anguish had consumed him. The throaty sobs echoed in the locker room as he'd sat, half naked, in front of his locker for how long he hadn't known. When he stood up, his back was sore and his eyes and throat ached. Slowly, he'd changed out of his suit and into a pair of worn jeans, t-shirt and tatty trainers. When he checked his reflection to make sure the redness and swelling was gone from his eyes, he flinched. He looked like a chav bunking off. Gwen had teased him, asking if he needed help with his homework. He'd ignored the jibe as he descended into the archive, but noted Gwen's attempt at making him feel better with affectionate teasing.

There was a lot to do in a place as big as the Torchwood Hub. Each room of the Archive was supposed to be inspected at least once a year. Who knew if an unknown alien artefact was actually an egg that would hatch or something that would melt? It was normally a task that was put off. Ianto tried to keep up with it as he filed. If he entered a room that hadn’t been accessed in some time, he went through the inspection checklist. Of course, this spotty system meant that some rooms hadn’t been inspected in years. Most, if not all, of the empty rooms hadn't been entered in decades.

In the case of the room that Henry was currently tending, it hadn’t been opened since before Ianto had been born. The door squealed loudly and none of the lights worked. Henry had replaced the lights with the more energy efficient and longer lasting LED bulbs. Now he was up on a ladder, oiling the hinge with a substance that had fallen through the rift. Jack swore it would keep the hinge functioning well for a century if not longer. Henry only needed to apply a small drop.

He swung the door. The hinge glided without sound or interference. He wondered if he’d be able to sneak some of it out of the Hub to use on the walk-in closet door in the loft. He stepped down from the ladder. After folding it up, he moved on to the next room, pushing his cart of supplies along. This door wouldn’t open at all. The hinge was rusted completely shut. He sighed at the constant plague of humidity. There was a large dehumidifying system in the Hub but being so close to the bay and being underground was too much for it. Fish often complained about it playing havoc with the computer equipment. Henry swallowed against the memory. He set up the ladder and decided to give the alien lubricant a try. He applied two drops to the top of each hinge and left it to settle then moved along to the next room. To his amazement, when he returned to the room, the rust had crumbled to the floor and the hinge moved easily. He was definitely nicking some of this stuff.

As Henry moved deeper and deeper into the archive, the rooms became more and more sparse. The last few rooms had been completely empty. He’d reached the end of this particular hallway and was surprised that the room had keypad lock that looked brand new. He raised his eyebrow. This entire hallway had been dark when he’d entered it. The old fashioned carbon filament bulbs he’d replaced told him that this area of the Hub hadn’t been visited in nearly a century. The keypad made him insanely curious and provided a welcome distraction. _Oh, why the bloody hell not?_

Though he was deep in the archive and most definitely alone, Henry leaned, looking over his shoulder, ensuring there was no one. He picked up the pencil on his cart and began shaving the graphite. In a short few minutes, he'd built up a fair amount of powder. He blew it in the direction of the keypad. It stuck to three of the keys. Henry smirked. He began to press the buttons in various combinations. Once he'd exhausted unique combinations, he began pressing the keys twice, starting with four digit combinations. If it was more than that, the chances of him randomly stumbling upon the code were almost non-existent, but he had nothing better to do. Methodically, he began trying different combinations with the first number used twice. He didn’t expect to be successful. To his utter shock, he heard a click.

_1941?_

He wondered at the year’s significance. Then again, it may not be a year at all and may just be random numbers. Briefly, he spared a thought to the fact that the door was specially locked and that its contents may be dangerous. If it was dangerous, he liked to think it would have been harder to break in. He opened the door and flipped on the light. It was a normal storage room. Unlike other rooms in this section that were sparse or empty, this one was crammed with items.

There was furniture, filing cabinets and what looked like thousands of odds and ends. There were racks of clothing, hat boxes, boots and shoes. There were photographs and dried flowers, slips of paper and other random items. Henry smiled. It was like walking back into a museum. There was an antique wooden desk immediately next to the door with a pile of letters on top of it. The envelope was yellowed with age. Henry picked up the letter on top of it. It was addressed to Jack and unsigned. Overcome with curiosity, Henry began to read. He stopped after the first paragraph, putting the paper down swiftly. It was clearly an intimate and rather... explicit... correspondence.

Perched next to the letters was a stack of photographs. The top was of Jack standing next to a handsome young man with a Mediterranean look to him. Their clothing told him it had to be the early twentieth century. Curious, he flipped over the picture. Written in Jack’s neat, elegant script it said, “Me and Angelo, 1927.”

“It always ends the same way,” a voice said softly from behind Henry.

The Duke snapped his head up, hastily putting the photograph down. It slipped off the stack and fluttered to the floor. Jack stooped to pick it up. He ran his hand, lovingly, across the paper. “Time to move on.” He gently set it down on the stack and said, softly, “Men like that... they kill me...” There was a flicker of understanding on Henry's face. “You know what I'm talking about.”

 _A lover_ , Henry realised and nodded. His voice was rougher than he hoped Jack heard. “I do.” He cleared his throat and said, “Forgive me for snooping.”

Jack gave him a dismissive wave. “We've found him, Henry.”

“Where?” Henry asked.

“Cassie is holding him on a ship.”

“He is yet alive?”

“We think so. The intelligence is recent and reliable. She's been making regular visits, leaving food and water. Possibly she's drugging him to keep him cooperative because you and I both know Fish wouldn't just sit there. If he saw a chance to escape, he'd take it. She only left the ship a short while ago.”

 _Joe… my darling Joe…_ Henry wanted to weep with relief.

“We're putting together a rescue and an ambush,” Jack said. He crossed his arms over his chest and jutted out his chin. “Do you want to be part of it?”

Henry found his voice, his face hardening. “If you believe I shall sit idly whilst you and the team mount my husband’s rescue, you are gravely mistaken,” he said, darkly. His eyes became hooded as he readied his body for defence. “And if you believe you will catch me off-guard with a syringe full of sedative again, you are also gravely mistaken.”

“Ease up, Henry,” Jack said, holding up his hand. “There's no need for you to go channelling Will here. I'm not sorry I drugged you because – and tell me honestly – would you have sat it out if I'd asked nicely?”

Henry was about to protest, but lost his momentum. “No.”

The two immortals stood there, gazing at each other. Jack broke the pregnant silence first. He spoke deliberately and honestly. “How much you want him back is eating you up inside. It's consuming you to the point where you can't think about anything else. You're helpless. Powerless. And so lost. You keep telling yourself that you haven't lost him yet, but you'll lose him someday, and that's when you realise this is exactly how it's gonna be and there's nothing you can do about it. Because immortality isn't living forever. Immortality is everybody else dying and becoming lost to you forever.” Jack heaved out a deep and tired sigh. “You get that I can't have that running around in your head during this rescue.”

Jack may not create the buzzing pressure in his head, but there was kinship here. Henry felt and the defensiveness drained out of him. He took a deep breath, rolled his shoulders and tried to get a hold of himself.

Calmly, Henry asked, “You will allow me to participate?”

“That depends on you, Lord Richmond,” Jack said, giving the other immortal a one shouldered shrug. He hoped the use of Henry's title wouldn't backfire against him. “Can Joe trust you to keep a tight rein on your feelings so you don't get him or anyone else killed?”

Henry drew himself up. “Yes.”

“Then let's go get him back to you.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jack stood on the dock, glancing up and down. He was glad it was the off season and the entire marina was deserted. The team plus Andy Davidson was huddled around, staring at the disappearing gangway. Jack took note of the way Henry was shifting his weight, anxiously, from one foot to the other.

“That's queer looking,” Gwen said, to no one in particular.

“I'm surprise no one has investigated,” Henry said. The idle chatter kept the anxiousness at bay. All he wanted to do was rush onto the boat and shout through the hallways for his husband but keeping a tight reign over himself was a condition of his presence here.

“Probably think it's a prank,” Hart said, waving at the water. “You step on it and end up taking a dip.”

“All right, listen up. Gwen? Andy? Henry? No change from what we discussed back at the Hub. I want you three up on deck keeping watch while the rest of us search for Fish.” He gave Henry a stern look and the Duke only nodded at him. “Fish is our priority, but we also need to find whatever tech Cassie is using to do this. John and I will be taking point.”

With a scowl on her face, Miranda said, “Jack...”

“Your objection to John taking point with me is still noted and overruled, Will,” he said, shaking his head. “I go first, then John. You and Ianto behind us. Thirty feet at least.”

“Perhaps we should split up,” Henry said.

“Not a good idea, Henry,” he said, shaking his head. “We trip something? We could end up trapped on an alien world, in the middle of an atmosphere that can't support human life. No one goes off comms for any reason but I want to keep the comm chatter to a minimum in case she comes back early or she's still on the ship. I want check-ins every ten minutes from _everyone_ ,” he said and stepped towards the gangway. Jack opened his wrist strap, tapping at it a few times. He turned to Hart. “No fluctuations but I can't rule out temporal displacement. I'm going to go first.”

“Age before beauty,” Hart quipped.

When Jack gave him a stern look, Hart smirked at him and Jack returned it. He huffed out a breath and then strode up the gangway, disappearing into thin air. Miranda saw Ianto's shoulders tense and she swore the Welshman was holding his breath. A few moments later, Jack's head appeared and he said, “Okay, John. It's clear. Everyone else wait here. Give us a few minutes to clear the deck.”

Hart gave Miranda a reassuring smile, and displaying more confidence than he felt, strutted his way across. He noted the feeling of static electricity as he passed through some sort of field. He wondered if Jack had felt it. The minute his boots hit the deck, he looked around, trying to recognise the planet but didn't. “Same as always, eh? You go left, I'll go right.”

Jack put a hand in the middle of his chest, stopping him. Hart raised an eyebrow at him. “As fun as a quickie would be, Jack, your husband and my wife are both ten feet away. Unless you're suggesting a swap-”

“I already cleared the deck. I wanted to talk privately before we got started,” he said, lowering his hand. He jerked his head to the portal. “They can't hear us.”

“Talk? About?”

“During the exchange, Cassie told me that she was my partner after you.”

Hart furrowed his brow. “Look, Jack, if this is about what happened after that time loop, I was a coward and a fool, okay? I wasn't asleep. I heard you. Every word. I just... I wasn't ready. Is this really the time and the place? I thought we were past all that. Even at this point in our timeline.”

Jack shook his head. “That's not what I meant. Cassie said she was my next partner. I don't remember her.”

Hart raised one eyebrow and said, “Look, Jack... I was avoiding you. I didn't pay much attention. Head in the sand, you know. I was too busy trying to settle in with Isco-Tha. You know how Robaxians can be.”

Feeling a little frustrated that Hart kept assuming what he was talking about, Jack said, loudly, “I don't remember Cassie because I lost my memories. The Agency... they took them. Two years.”

Hart nodded, keeping his face carefully neutral. “You've told me this before.”

“Cassie said we were in love, that she told her family about us and that... that we were planning a life together,” he said, softly.

Hart let out a low whistle. “That's heavy, Jack.” He shrugged and continued, “Like I said, I didn't know anything. If you and her were involved, it's not something you would've broadcasted. I mean, she's a Dromanian. And like I said, we weren't speaking so you wouldn't have told me anything. If there were rumours, I never heard any, but that kind of rumour wouldn't have taken off. No one would've played with that kind of fire even if it is damned juicy.”

“So you don't know anything about the two years the Agency stole from me?” Jack asked.

Hart pressed his lips together and gave a sad shake of his head as Jack studied him carefully. His voice was full of regret with a little bit of sadness and pity mixed in. “No, Jack. I don't. I'm sorry.”

Jack studied his friend for a few moments more, looking for any sign Hart was lying. When he found none, he let out a frustrated sigh and nodded. “Let's get the others aboard. There are a lot of containers up here. I'm going to go start scanning them for tech.”

Hart nodded, turning away from his friend and letting out the breath he was holding. _I deserve a bloody BAFTA for that..._

He refocused his attention back on the task at hand and stepped off the ship, back to Cardiff. After signalling the others, they boarded the ship one by one. Even though they needed to get started searching, the whole team was captivated. This was the first time a lot of them had been off-world. Gwen was looking around, wide eyed and thrilled. Henry and Miranda were standing, dumb, gazing up at the alien sky. Henry reached out, blindly, grasping Miranda’s hand in his. They looked like two frightened children. Jack stepped over to them – these two people of the past so out of place on an alien world. He said, quietly, “The distance is nothing more than perception – no further than England and China were thought to be a thousand years ago. Home is just a few steps away.”

They squeezed hands briefly and then let go. Henry nodded as Miranda inhaled, rolling her shoulders as she exhaled slowly. She said, softly, “It is disconcerting.”

“Agreed,” Henry said. He suppressed a shudder then turned towards the navigation room. “Do you believe Joe is below? Or in one of the containers?”

“I think he's below. The containers are for cargo,” Jack said. He held up his wrist and peeked at his vortex manipulator's screen. “They're all locked up tight.”

“I doubt she'd break into one and empty it of all its cargo just to hide Fish when she's got a ship full of empty rooms,” Hart said, as he leaned over the side of the ship. “That would be a lot of backbreaking work and Dromanians aren't a strong species.”

Jack nodded. “Okay, there are a couple access points. Andy said he saw her come out of the bridge so we'll start there. How many bodies did you see?”

“At least three,” Andy said. He wrinkled his nose. “The smell's worse. Don't know how she can stand it.”

“Dromanians have a very poor sense of smell. Ianto?”

Always prepared, Ianto reached into his pocket, producing a small bottle of peppermint oil. He passed it to Henry who placed to small dabs under his nostrils. The bottle made its rounds and once everyone had applied it, Jack and Hart moved towards the bridge's door.

Hart wrinkled his nose as he gripped the knob. “Well, isn't that pungent.”

“It's going to get a lot worse.” Jack shrugged and said, “On three?”

Hart nodded.

“Three... two... one...”

The stench hit them all like a wall as Hart flung the door open. Jack and Hart involuntarily leaned backwards. Miranda raised her arm, blocking her nose. Ianto turned his head, squinting his eyes and coughed. They all were willing their stomachs not to object. Andy, Gwen and Henry were standing a good distance away but they backed up as the stench made its way to them.

“Good Lord!” Henry exclaimed. He threw his arm up to protect his face. Gwen and Andy both gagged.

“Well, that's going to get all up in my sinuses,” Gwen said, suppressing a gag. “Be smelling that for days, I will.”

“The whole crew must be dead,” Jack said, peering into the room. “Okay, let's go. Watch yourselves. Don't touch anything. You two hang here until John and I get to that door.”

Jack drew his Webley and held it high, stepping into the room with caution. His stomach rolled at the greasy, putrid odour. He looked up and down, scanning for the faint, tell-tale signs of futuristic technology. It reminded Jack vividly of when he'd been a Time Agent and Hart had been his partner. The two fell right back into their old habits, moving cohesively and watching each other's cues from the corners of their eyes. It didn't take them more than a few minutes to clear the room and move onto the hallway. As they did, they side stepped the puddles of purged fluid. The last thing they wanted was to leave footprints that would make Cassie suspicious or get the muck on their shoes. Jack opened his vortex manipulator again and tapped at it. He looked up and down, sniffed the air and then moved forward. It was hard to smell anything but rot. He made a faint clicking noise with his tongue and Hart moved in behind him. Jack lifted his hand, running it along the wall. He shook his head and Hart nodded for Ianto and Miranda to move in. The two shouldered their medical kits and moved through the room, ignoring the corpses. There was nothing they could do for them now. When they reached the hallway, Hart signalled for them to wait while they cleared the stairs.

While they waited, Ianto nodded at the bloated corpses and asked, “What do you reckon killed them? The atmosphere?”

Miranda leaned back into the navigation room, eyeing the rotting corpses. “No obviously outside signs of trauma or a struggle. The atmosphere is probably the best guess.”

Ianto looked up. “I wonder what would happen to us.”

“We would die,” she said, flatly.

He rolled his eyes. “I know that, Mandy, but would we revive?”

Miranda shook her head. “I don’t know. It depends on how toxic the atmosphere is.” She swallowed hard. “I find this place unsettling.”

The tone of voice caught Ianto’s attention. He heard genuine fear. With a careful eye, he noted the subtle clues of anxiety. “Are you all right?”

She shook her head. “The sooner we are back on Earth, the better.”

“It’s just another place, Mandy,” Ianto said, trying to soothe his friend.

She craned her neck, attempting to see if Hart and Jack were any closer to clearing the staircase so they could move forward but the two men were completely out of sight. “That’s not it.”

“What is it then?” Ianto asked, genuinely curious.

She didn’t want to explain that her fear was deeply rooted in superstition. The nomadic culture that Miranda had grown up in believed that a person’s eternal soul was fuelled by the land – that the life of nature and the life of the soul were entwined and inseparable. Her feet had left Earth’s soil and a part of her brain was screaming at her in terror. It was that animal part of the human mind that sent the heart beating faster and made the hands clammy at the thought of spiders or snakes or the dark. She was an immortal of the Game, trained to kill and defend herself. She was Torchwood, trained to deal with alien beings and technology. And a ridiculous superstition from four thousand years ago was frightening her like a child who thought there was a monster under the bed. It embarrassed her.

Hart saved her from having to answer. The sound of snapping fingers reached their ears. They both looked up. Hart was gesturing them to move forward and wait at the top of the stairs, then disappeared.

At the bottom of the stairs, Jack looked left and right at the same moment the entire team sounded off in his ear for their first check-in.

“What do you think?” Jack asked in Ekumen, even though Miranda would understand them.

Hart shrugged as he pointed his torch up and down the hallway. “Don't know. Your guess is as good as mine.”

Jack nodded and said, “I don't want Fish to be in the last room we look in.”

“What you're looking for is always in the last place you look,” Hart replied, rolling his eyes. He jerked his head left. “How about that way.”

Jack moved forward, slowly, hugging the wall. “This is too easy.”

“I've got a bad feeling about this,” Hart said, softly. “I’ve had a bad feeling ever since I bloody got here.”

Not a mission went by that Hart didn't say this at least once, if not a dozen times, when they were partners. Jack let out a scoff and rolled his eyes. “You always have a bad feeling.”

“I'm right sometimes.”

“Statistically, you will be,” Jack said after rolling his eyes again.

Hart angled his torch at something in the middle of the hallway. “What's that?”

Jack squinted, raising his own light. “Packet of something. Ianto? Will? You can move on up.”

They came to the first room on the right. Jack flung the door open but there was nothing there. It looked like a generic office and was empty except for the furniture and paper. The next room on their left was a basic communications room. The person manning the radio was slumped over the desk.

“Looks like the atmosphere got them,” Hart said as he shut the door. “That yellowy sky doesn’t exactly scream human breathable.”

Jack stepped around some more random plasters and other medical supplies. “Try not to disturb these. I don’t want to tip her off at all.”

“Ianto? Will? You can move up one doorway. Watch it, there's some clutter up here.”

“Hatch door at the end,” Hart said. He slid along the wall and smirked. “I bet that one's winner, winner, chicken dinner. Care to make a wager?”

Jack gave him an annoyed look. “Just open the door.”

“You're no fun anymore,” Hart said as he turned the wheel. “Ridiculous a hatch that opens in. What’s the bloody point of that?”

After pushing the door inward, Jack stepped inside followed by Hart. The first thing that hit them was the smell. Along with the mild smell of death, there was a mixture of rotting food, body odour, stale urine and faeces. Fish appeared to be asleep inside of a sleeping bag in the middle of the room. The hatch door made some noise, but Fish didn’t move an inch. Jack noted the urine filled water bottles to his right. There were a couple empty water bottles strewn about the room. There were several pizza boxes stacked in one corner. Jack made no attempt to call out to Fish or attempt to rouse him. Instead, he began moving around the room, examining it for any sign of a trap. He snapped his fingers at Hart, then pointed at Fish. Hart nodded and approached the sleeping bag with caution. He held his gun up as he threaded his fingers into the greasy blonde hair. He tugged, exposing the face. It was Fish. His cheeks were flushed and his closed eyes were puffy. There was crust around his nostrils and the corners of his lips, which were dry and cracking.

Hart slipped his fingers to Fish's neck and felt. The pulse was there, if not a little thready. He nodded to Jack and then gripped Fish's shoulder, shaking him hard.

“Joe?”

There was no response. Hart slipped his hand back to Fish's neck to feel for the pulse again just in case he'd been mistaken. That was when he noticed how warm Fish felt. A full blooded human of the twenty first century, Fish should feel cool to Hart's own scorching body temperature but he didn't. He felt significantly warmer.

Jack had made his way around the room, completing his checks. Equally relieved and concerned, he'd found nothing. “Ianto? We're in the room with the hatch door. We have Fish. He’s alive, Henry. Gwen? Get an ambulance. You’ll have to go back to the dock to get a signal. Will, go back up and get the stretcher. Henry? You can come down with her. Gwen? Andy? Stay alert. This was too easy.”

By the time Jack was done speaking, Ianto was in the room. He shrugged the medical kit off of his shoulders and knelt beside Fish, pulling back the sleeping bag further. Fish's hand rolled out to the side, the bandage around it crusted and filthy. Ianto could see oozing from the wound leaking through the thick layer of gauze. Hart was about to stand up to give Ianto room to work but Ianto stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“I’m going to need your help.”

Hart immediately turned to the medical kit, pulling it towards him and removing everything he needed to start a cannula. At Ianto's startled look he said, “You and Miranda have taught me a thing or two about what your century calls 'medicine.' Do you want the cooling pack on the fluids?”

Ianto nodded as he ran the vitals scanner over his friend. After reading it, he began examining him, lifting his eyelids and shining a light into them.

“When you’re done, start cutting his clothes off,” Ianto said. He began removing the bandage. It hadn't been changed in some time. It was stiff foul smelling. When he peeled it away, the smell of infection hit him. The jagged raw edge was red and angry. Most concerning to Ianto were the red lines travelling up Fish's arm. The entire hand was severely swollen including Fish's ring finger. The flesh ballooned around his wedding band.

“Cachu,” he muttered. He dug a pair of thick cutters out of the kit. “John? Hang on. I need you to hold his hand steady. I've got to get this blasted ring off him.”

“Give me one second,” he said. Ianto looked up, watching Hart connecting the IV line and set the fluids flowing at their highest rate.

While Ianto got the cutter from the medical kit, Hart pressed and pulled, edging the skin away from the ring so Ianto could grab hold of it. With a loud snap, the cutter sliced through the metal. With another pair of pliers and Hart's help, he pulled the ends apart. He slipped the ring into his pocket and then examined the finger.

“Looks angry as Vara below,” Hart said, wincing. He resumed cutting off Fish's clothes.

“It doesn't look like it cut off the circulation too badly.” He abandoned the swollen finger and turned his attention to the more serious wound. He started pouring sterile saline solution over it, attempting to flush away the pus, crusted blood and other debris.

Gwen's voice came over the comm unit. “Henry and Miranda have the stretcher and the ambulance is on the way, Jack.”

“Good, Gwen. When they get here, make them wait. I don't care if Cardiff is burning to the ground,” he said.

“Mandy, the wound from the severed finger's infected. Cellulitis and lymphangitis. Fever of thirty nine point five degrees. Mild tachycardia and mild hypotension.”

“What else, Ifan?”

“The entire hand's swollen. His wedding ring was strangling his finger so I cut it off. I’m still assessing. I'm starting antibiotics. I'm not going to give him anything for the pain yet. I don't know why he's unconscious. If she's used some sort of time current drug, I don't want to make things worse.”

Hart tossed Fish's shirt aside and began pressing at the wounds on Fish's chest. “She's been stinging him. Dromanians are venomous but they can control the venom – pretty much make it do whatever they want.” He peered at the swelling and redness around the punctures. “She took a big chance the venom wouldn't kill him.”

“Are the punctures infected, Ifan?”

“Yes.” He began preparing a syringe of antibiotics. “There’s swelling and redness. They’re oozing a bit.”

As Hart cut into Fish’s jeans and pants, he let out a low growl of anger. “He's been laying here like this for a while.”

Fish's jeans were discoloured, a disgusting mixture of urine and faeces staining the cotton. Hart peeled the jeans back to reveal reddened skin. Once he'd cut away Fish's pants, he let out an angry growl. Fish's groin was smeared with faeces and the skin was ulcerated. The foul odour of human waste assaulted his nose. “He has urine scald, Mandy.”

“Jack? Can you see if those water bottles are safe? I want to get him cleaned up a little.”

“They don’t look like they’re tampered with,” Jack said, dragging one of the cases over. He winced at the sight of their friend then moved to stand by the door to wait for Henry and Miranda.

“By the fucking Twins,” Hart said as he began cleaning the filth away.

“Is that turned up all the way?” Ianto asked about the fluids.

Hart nodded. He picked up another bottle of water and continued working, often feeling he was doing more harm than good as smearing faeces into Fish's wounds was often unavoidable. Ianto began re-bandaging Fish’s hand.

Jack heard footsteps. He opened the door and leaned, “In here, Will.”

Miranda stepped into the room, stretcher in hand. Jack managed to seize Henry by the arm before the man could rush towards his husband.

“Let them work, Henry,” he said, tightening his grip.

“You will unhand me!”

Jack raised his Webley to Henry's temple and said, “Take it down a notch.” When the Duke stopped struggling against his grip, Jack said, “Let them work.”

“His blood pressure is lower than I would like it.” She spoke softly but her voice echoed in the mostly empty room. She pricked Fish’s finger, holding the drop that pushed out to the portable analyser. Then she stood up, squeezing the fluid bag in her hands. Within seconds, the analyser began blaring and a purple light flashed. “Poison.”

Henry let out a small wail and Jack tightened his grip even though Henry made no attempt to rush to his husband’s side.

“It’s probably picking up Dromanian venom. I was just telling Eye Candy, they can tailor that venom to do almost whatever they want,” Hart said as he continued to clean Fish's skin. He waved at the puncture wounds on Fish's chest. “It's probably why he's unconscious. It’s not too specific but the venom could be doing anything from acting like a sedative or making him high as a kite.”

“I will flay the flesh from her bones,” Miranda said. Her voice was dark and low.

“You will have to wait your turn,” Henry snapped.

Miranda nodded and joined Hart in cleaning Fish's groin and thighs. Once the skin was clean, they began putting a cooling salve onto the ulcers. At first, they applied the cream only to the sores, but after a few moments, they just began coating Fish's entire pelvic area with it. Uncovered, Fish began to shiver and Henry started to struggle against Jack's hands.

“It's just the fever, my Lord,” Miranda said.

Henry could no longer bear it. The man he loved was naked, on a filthy sleeping blanket. His red, swollen hand was wrapped in a thick bandage with angry lines of infection tracing their way up his arm. There were angry, red puncture wounds all over his chest, two of them oozing a yellow fluid. The skin of his entire pelvic area was covered in a thick, white salve but Henry could still see the small coin sized ulcers that dotted his inner thighs, buttocks and genitals. He looked at Jack and begged, “Please.”

With a deep sigh, Jack let go of Henry's arm. The Duke flew to his husband, pulling his head into his lap. He smoothed back the greasy hair, then bent, kissing his forehead, unable to stop the tears. “My darling, Joe...”

Once Fish's immediate medical needs were met, they placed him on the stretcher and covered him with thick blankets. Henry held fast onto his hand, refusing to let go. They carried him upstairs with care, stepping off the ship and back to Cardiff. Gwen turned when she heard them.

“Oh my God,” she gasped. Her hand went to her mouth as she fought back tears.

Andy had been trailing behind them, looking awkward. There wasn’t anywhere on the stretcher for him to help carry Fish but he looked like he was trying to find a place to do so. _I shouldn't have left. I should've stayed, helped him. Christ, he was two decks below me..._ The paramedics in the car park transferred Fish to their trolley, securing him to a backboard and his neck in a collar.

Henry climbed into the ambulance. “I'm going with him.”

Jack nodded. “Text me. Keep us up to date on his condition.”He slammed the doors shut. He pounded his fist on them, twice. The ambulance took off with a cacophony of sirens and lights.

“Godspeed, my friend,” Miranda whispered. Hart came up behind her, sliding his arm over her shoulders and pulling her into him.

They all stood there, watching until the ambulance had disappeared from view. None of them moved until they could no longer hear the siren. Andy stood apart, feeling very much on the outside of this tight knit group. The guilt of not investigating the ship further was gnawing at him. He said, to no one in particular, “He didn't look good.”   
Miranda turned and Andy felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. Her voice was flat but there was no accusation in it when she replied, “That's because he's not.”

Jack didn’t waste time. He didn’t want them to fall into depressive contemplation. Louder than he normally would’ve, he said, “Let's get back aboard. We keep searching. Bow to stern. We still need to find whatever tech she's using to keep the ship off-world. Gwen? Andy? You two keep watch. The rest of us will keep looking.”

Without another word, he turned towards the ship with the others trailing behind him.

 


	23. Chapter 23

Hart and the immortals descended back down below deck and continued their search for whatever technology Cassie was using to displace the ship. It proved entirely uneventful and frustrating. Though they checked every room, there was no evidence of anything other than typical twenty first century technology. No matter how much they scanned with Jack's vortex manipulator or with equipment they'd brought from the Hub, they’d found nothing. When the last room had been searched, they started again but still found nothing. Now, they had just under two hours before Cassie returned, so they decided to regroup, gathering up on the main deck to huddle around paper cups of Ianto's coffee.

“I don't know how she's hiding it. The technology to do this? It would need a decent sized power source. If she's cloaked it? It would need even more,” Hart said. He gulped at his coffee, winced, and then blew on it.

“I told you it was hot,” Ianto scolded. His expression changed from annoyance to surprise as he realised, “You never drank my coffee before.”

“And believe you me, I kicked myself when I finally started. To think, all that time I could've been enjoying this orgasm in a cup,” Hart said, waggling his eyebrows at Ianto.

“What's this tech look like?” Gwen asked. She ripped open another sugar packet and dumped it into her own coffee. She'd no way to stir it so she shook the cup with her finger over the hole in the middle of the lid. Coffee sloshed over onto the deck and she mopped it up with a paper napkin.

“Depends on what century she obtained it from,” Hart said, sipping his coffee more carefully.

“She'd likely use the most current available to her though, wouldn't she?” Gwen asked.

Hart shook his head. “Money would limit her. Something small and undetectable and advanced would be expensive, especially if she wanted to obtain something legally.”

“Why not just nick something?” Andy asked.

“No matter what time period, it'd be expensive and anything expensive would have the equivalent of a temporal lo-jack on it so it could be traced through time and the last thing she'd want is more attention,” Jack said, gulping at his coffee. He gestured at the gangway. “We can't leave that portal there for anyone to go wandering through.”

Andy gazed upwards and asked, “Where do you think we are?”

“Who knows? Could be anywhere, really,” Hart said, shrugging. “Doesn't look habitable though.”

“No?” he commented.

Hart shook his head. “Earth has the conditions to support human life. Those conditions make it look the way it does. Those characteristics are pretty similar throughout the galaxies when it comes to habitable worlds – the water, the blue sky, the green plant life. This?” He looked up and shook his head. “This doesn't look like somewhere I'd want to take a deep breath.”

Jack nodded, downing the rest of his coffee. His mobile vibrated in his pocket. He took it out and read the text. “Fish is stabilised and in surgery. The infection’s pretty significant. They’re working on saving his hand.”

“They may have to amputate?” Gwen asked, alarmed.

“That’s all Henry said. I’ll fill you all in if he gives us another update,” Jack replied, putting his phone back into his pocket. He didn’t want them dwelling on Fish too much. “All right, break time over. Gwen? Andy? I want you both up on deck again. I don't care where, just as long as you both have a decent three sixty. Ianto, Will and I'll be taking care of Cassie.” He handed his empty cup to Ianto and continued, “Will and I'll be inside the room she was holding Fish, on either side of the door. We'll jump her the second she comes through. Ianto and John, I want you in the room before, that one with the desk. Once Will and I have her, Ianto's in charge of the vortex manipulator. We hold her down. He takes it off. Once Ianto has her manipulator, he's going to pass it to John. Once he has it, I want you to lock us all in that room.”

“I don't like this, Jack,” Miranda said, frowning.

Jack gave her an impatient look and asked, in a level and even tone, “What don't you like, Will, that doesn't have to do with John being within stinging distance?”

When the immortal woman remained silent, Jack rolled his eyes and said, “Anyone else have any objections?”

“We're going to get stung,” Ianto said, raising both his eyebrows. He turned to Hart. “What's this venom of hers going to be like?”

“Depends,” Hart said, his tone bland. “Like I said, she can can't get too specific about what she wants it to do but you can bet she's going to be stinging to kill and I can’t imagine that t's going to be pleasant. Or pain free.”

Ianto pulled a face. “Well there's something to look forward to.”

“Everyone got the plan?” There were nods all around and Jack gave them all a terse nod. “Good. Let's all get into position. Dromanians have pretty decent hearing so Gwen? Show Andy how to do the silent signal on the comms and we'll use that for the signal when she's aboard. I want everyone to keep radio silence except for the ten minute check ins. Let's move.”

“Just a minute, Jack,” Hart said. He held out his empty cup. “Can I get another hit, Eye Candy?”

Ianto poured out some more coffee, emptying the large thermos into the cup. “That's the last of it, I'm afraid.”

Hart drank deeply. “Ahh,” he said with a satisfied smile. “Liquid sex, that is.”

Curious, Ianto asked, “How long did it take me to convince you?”

With a wink, he replied, “Can't tell you that, Eye Candy. All I can tell you is never stop offering it to me, no matter how long I say no.” He threw his head back, draining the last of the coffee.

Ianto collected all the paper cups and disposed of them back on the dock then they all started to move into position. As he fell into step beside Jack, his husband said, in a low voice, “Do me a favour, Yan? Watch Will for me. I want Cassie alive and I don't think she's on that page with me.”

“I'll do my best, but if she's set on it, I don't think I'd be able to stop her,” he replied. Jack just nodded at him once in acknowledgement.

It didn't take long for them all to get into position. They had at least two hours before Cassie was due back and since Jack had asked for radio silence outside of the ten minute check-in, everyone got very bored, very quickly.

Andy had taken chosen the top of one of the cargo containers. He was laying on his stomach to keep out of sight. Unfortunately, it also put him in danger of falling asleep. A small stone caught his eye by the edge of the container. He slid himself over and picked it up. He looked over his shoulder to make sure Gwen wasn't looking in his direction. He made his way to the edge and tossed the stone into the opaque water. It hit the surface, floated for a moment, and then sank.

 _Heh, how about that?_ he thought to himself. He lifted his arm to check his watch. There was still well over an hour before Cassie was due back to the ship. He saw another rock by his foot, so he rotated and tossed that one into the water as well. Mildly entertained for a few minutes, he returned back to his position watching the gangway. The minutes dragged and dragged. He stifled a yawn just as Cassie appeared. She was early. He caught Gwen’s eye and she nodded. He reached for his comm unit, hitting the button that switched the channels three times as Gwen had shown him. The beep as he left and returned to the channel would signal the others.

Cassie strode, back straight, into the navigation room. She walked into the back hallway and down the stairs. Ianto and Hart were in the office, waiting and listening. They heard her kicking the medical supplies in the corridor aside as she walked. Ianto resisted the temptation to move to the door and press his ear against it. Instead, he held his hand up to Hart and waited.

They both heard the sound of the door wheel turning, then the distinctive squeal as the door opened. The moment the unmistakeable sounds of a struggle reached their ears, Jack shouted, “IANTO!”

He flung the door open to assist them with Hart on his heels. When he arrived in the room, Miranda was lying flat on the floor with Cassie on top of her. One arm was around the alien’s neck while her legs were pinning Cassie from behind. Jack had the stinging end of Cassie’s tail in his hands, gripping with all his might while the rest of the tail was restrained under his knee.

“Ifan! Hurry!” Miranda shouted. Ianto saw that his teacher was quickly losing this battle and Jack’s grip was also failing. He dove, reaching for Cassie’s wrist. He unstrapped the vortex manipulator and turned towards the door, relieved to see Hart standing well away. He tossed the leather strap to him. The moment it left his fingers, Ianto felt a pinch and then a burning sensation in his back. Cassie barrelled past him, knocking him over as she went. Ianto reached out to try and grab her but missed. Hart caught the vortex manipulator and barely got the door shut in time.

When Ianto hit the floor, he saw Jack and Miranda, lying side by side. Miranda was clearly dead but Ianto still saw life in his husband’s eyes. He wasn’t breathing and there was no movement, his eyes didn’t even blink or change position to look around. Slowly, Ianto saw Jack’s eyes glaze and the life leave them. Ianto couldn’t move either and it was becoming increasingly hard to breath. He’d never understood the concept of a death gasp before and now he did. Even though he knew he would revive, his body and mind still fought against the terror of death. He had no idea which breath would be his last so each one he took as deeply as he could, holding it before finally exhaling and gasping another. On his next inhale, his diaphragm and ribcage seized and he slowly exhaled as the muscles relaxed.

Cassie leaned over him and said, “Was it worth it? Three lives for my wrist strap.”

He wanted to spit in her face but he couldn’t move. His vision swam as his lungs began to burn. The dizziness fed the desperation as every cell in his body screamed for air. His limbs wanted to flail, to claw at his throat but he couldn’t move.

Cassie paid no attention as he died. The last thing Ianto saw and heard was Cassie’s growl of rage as she kicked Jack squarely in the head. She bent to remove his vortex manipulator then strapped it to her own wrist. She programmed it to teleport her into the hallway. When she activated it, nothing happened. With another growl of rage, she ripped it off her wrist and threw it. She flung herself at the door, pounding it with her shoulder to try and get it to open.

Hart stepped back from the noise even though Cassie was trapped. Feeling a little out of breath as the adrenaline eased out of his system, he said for the benefit of Gwen and Andy, “Right. Right. They’re all down. No idea how long it’ll take for them to pop back up.”

“You all right, Captain?” Gwen asked, genuinely concerned.

“Yeah, I’m fine, gorgeous. Barely got that bloody door closed in time. She scared the piss out of me,” he said. He knew exactly what Cassie had done before she started to pound on the door. He could almost picture her taking the vortex manipulator off of Jack’s wrist. _Should've set up surveillance in that bloody room. Ah well, hindsight_... The sound of Cassie kicking the door echoed through the hallway.

He switched to Ekumen. He didn’t bother hiding the amusement from his voice as he said, “Jack's doesn't work, hasn't in years. There’s nowhere for you to go, Cas.”

He couldn’t help but laugh as he leaned against the door. He had no idea how long he’d be waiting there so he kicked some of the medical supplies out of the way and sat down on the floor.

“What’s your plan now?” she asked. “Looks like we’re at an impasse.”

He didn’t answer her. She didn’t know that Jack, Ianto and Miranda would revive. The floor was uncomfortable and cold so he stood up again.

“Good things come to those who wait,” he said, laughing.

She was silent for a minute and then said, low enough that he barely heard her, “You know, your pretty sister wasn’t laughing when I peeled her like an onion.”

He rolled his eyes. She was just trying to goad him into opening the door. He didn’t bother answering her. Her only escape was through time and space with the vortex manipulator in his hands. He wasn’t an idiot.

“The greatest covers are the ones with a hint of truth. Torchwood shut down the Time Agency, put out a scroll with every agent’s name on it. No one was surprised when the Joaquin Wixson used money and influence to get his son acquitted. Daddy, Daddy bail out. But when he put out a marker on that same son and his youngest daughter?” She let out a small laugh and started digging her nails into the metal of the door. “That makes people notice.”

Her words had a ring of truth to them and the sound of her scratching against the metal made him shiver. Paying to have someone killed or kidnapped was just as illegal in the fifty first century as it was in the twenty first. _But_ , Hart thought, _as the ancient proverb goes, 'Laws are more what you'd call guidelines than actual laws.'_ If his father had ordered a hit on him or his sister, lots of people would've taken interest but not because it was against the law. Hart wasn't a politician or someone else of any importance so it would be a source of gossip, nothing more.

He managed to say with more confidence than he felt, “You’re lying.”

“Your sister was my bargaining chip. All Daddy Wixson was offering was money. I didn't need money.” She brought her tail up, extending the stinger and scraping it along the metal. “I used her to negotiate my own compensation.”

Even though his heart began speeding up in his chest, he said, “I don’t believe you.”

“He had my death sentence commuted,” she yelled through the door. “I get a full acquittal when I come back with you – dead or alive. Preferably alive.” She scratched at the door again. “Daddy’s going to scoop you out like a pumpkin.”

“You’re such a liar,” he said. He didn’t even know why he was answering her.

“I don’t think he thought I’d actually find you… but that little time device you got your sister made it easy as pie, shooting fish in a barrel, falling off a log, and stealing candy from a baby.”

Now Hart’s blood ran cold. He gasped, “Shut up.”

She laughed and he heard the dull thud that must mean she’d kicked one of the bodies. “Would you like to hear how your sister died?”

“Shut up!” he barked. He pounded the door for good measure.

“It took me three days to get her to talk, to tell me where the device was,” Cassie said. “Too bad her heart gave out before I had a chance to finish peeling the skin from her face.”

He could hear the self-satisfied tone in her voice. She knew she was getting to him. He leaned his head against the wall and felt tears burning his eyes. _Judi_ … That was why his sister had never used the time travel device he'd given her. It was why he'd never seen any sign that his father was after him until now. It was the team's past, his future. Jack was right. This was all his fault. Everyone was caught in the crossfire of his family’s shit. He pounded the wall, “SHUT UP!”

“I started at her feet and worked my way up,” Cassie said. Her voice dripped with sweetness. “She had lovely hips.”

He felt the tears dripping down. _I’m sorry, Jude. I’m so sorry I left you. I should never have left you._ He let out a strangled sob when he realised he’d never told his sister how much he loved her and what it meant to him that she'd been there for him all those years. _Forgive me_ … He heard a gasp and reached up, roughly wiping his face as he reigned in his emotions.

“I made it last... and _last._ ”

The tears hit the floor beneath him. The old him would’ve throw that door open and emptied his gun into her chest, or better yet, given Cassie to Miranda and told her to get creative. But this man was different.

“I’m not opening this door Cassie, no matter what you say.” He wiped his face. “It won't bring Jude back.”

Hart leapt back from the wall when he heard a gun go off. The sound of the bullet ricocheting off the metal walls made him involuntarily duck each time.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” he shouted. The next sound he heard was Miranda’s sword impacting the metal of the door. _Oh that's going to piss her off._ He heard it clatter as it was flung and winced.

“Kill myself. Now you're talking, Wixson,” she said, softly.

 _Shit._ For a Time Agent, suicide was never an idle threat. They'd all been selected for their openness to it and trained for the possibility. Jack wanted her alive. He couldn't let her take the easy way out.

“You don’t want to do that, Cassie!” he shouted.

“Why not?” she said, just as quietly as before. Hart recognised the tone. He heard it in his mother's voice before she'd toppled willingly over a balcony railing. “I’m dead anyway.”

He had no idea what to do. He took the vortex manipulator out of his pocket and tossed it down the hallway. Then he did something incredibly stupid, he reached for the hatch and turned the wheel. When he opened the door, Cassie was across the room, crouched low next to Jack, trying to unfasten his Webley from its holster. Out of sheer luck, at that exact moment, Miranda gasped to life and Cassie fell backwards in shock.

“What?” Cassie cried. _“WHAT?!”_

Miranda rolled onto all fours, desperately trying to gain control over her post-revival body. She drew her own gun and pointed it at Cassie.

“Back away from him. Slowly,” she said, pushing more force and volume into her voice than she should have. She struggled not to cough or show Cassie any other sign of the revival’s disastrous effect on her body. “John, leave. Now.”

Hart obeyed, backing up. Now that he wasn’t blocking the path to the door, Cassie twitched. Miranda cocked her gun and said, “Don’t even _think_ about it.”

Miranda didn’t relax until the hatch door was shut again. She could see the confusion, disbelief and fear in Cassie’s eyes. She’d been dead, Cassie had been certain of it. The alien’s eyes flicked from the gun to Jack and back again.

She was weighing her options and one of them was suicide by Torchwood operative.

“I said, don’t even _think_ about it,” Miranda said, icily. “I am an excellent shot and I will make sure you’re very, very much alive for every second of my vengeance.”

Cassie stood up and stepped backwards until her back hit the wall.

“And keep that bloody tail where I can see it!”

As Cassie snaked her tail out to the side, Jack gasped and flailed. She let out a shriek and jumped. Jack, too, made every effort to rein in the violence of his revival and was more successful than Miranda had been. He rolled and stood, unsnapping his Webley.

Miranda had been unsteady as she stood, Jack simply rose to his feet and aimed his gun at Cassie's chest.

“It’s over Cassie,” he said.

She raised her hands to her neck, gripping the back then yanked them forward as if wiping something from her skin. “You’re supposed to be dead!”

“We're not so easy to get rid of,” he replied. He took a step towards her, taking out the two restraining devices from his pocket. One was a pair of wide handcuffs. The other was a device that would fit over the end of her tail so she couldn’t sting them.

“Turn around. Hands on the wall,” he ordered.

Miranda was a little surprised when she obeyed and allowed Jack to affix the device to her tail. Once that was done, he bound her hands behind her back. He turned her around, roughly. “Where’s the tech you’re using to keep the ship on this planet.”

When she didn’t answer, he shook her again. “Where?”

“Crew quarters, one deck down,” she replied.

“We searched the crew quarters.”

“There's a perception filter.”

Miranda said, “You go, Jack. I’ve got her.”

“I want to wait for Ianto,” he replied. In truth, he didn’t want to leave Miranda with Cassie alone. He wanted her alive and Miranda wanted her in pieces.

It was only a few more minutes when Ianto gasped and rolled. Though the young immortal had died many times since he’d entered the Game, keeping one’s wits was difficult when reviving. It took Ianto a few minutes before he could stand and another few before he walk without stumbling back to the floor.

“Let’s go check the crew quarters,” Jack said as he dragged Cassie with him. He rapped on the door. “We’re secure, John. Open up.”

When the door swung aside, Jack saw the hatred burning in Hart's eyes. The loathing almost vibrated off of Hart's skin but Jack had no idea what had happened while they'd all waited to revive. Whatever it was, it complicated things further. Now, Jack needed to worry about Miranda and Hart tearing Cassie limb from limb. He dragged Cassie forward, putting Ianto between them and the seething couple. When they reached the bottom of the staircase, he asked, “Which way?”

Cassie jerked her head right. “That way. Third door.”

Ianto, Miranda and Hart followed. When they arrived, Jack handed Cassie over to Ianto. He opened the crew quarters door and said, “We checked this room.”

Cassie nodded at the bunk. “It’s in the mattress. You can deactivate the cloak with my manipulator.”

Hart opened up the wrist strap and began tapping. “I found it, Jack.” He hit a few more buttons and nothing happened. “Oi!”

“Move the mattress, moron, idiot, imbecile, wazzock.”

Hart stepped forward and pulled the mattress off the bed, tossing it aside. The piece of tech was long and flat, about the size of a wooden board. At the end was the power source, two flat panels about the size of a sheet of paper connected to the device by a small cable. There was a tiny shred of hope living in Hart that Cassie was lying but that shred died the moment he laid eyes on the tech. This piece of equipment was from one of his father’s companies. It was a pretty basic model, but his father had definitely supplied it.

“And now we have a problem,” Hart said, kneeling.

“What problem?” Ianto asked.

Jack said, “This tech is placement specific.”

“So we can’t take it off the boat and deactivate it,” Hart finished. “The displacement field will travel with it. Someone needs to stay behind to deactivate the field.”

“But the field will collapse, the ship stays and the atmosphere comes rushing in,” Jack said. The frustration was evident in his voice.

“And kill whomever stays behind,” Miranda finished. “What if we simply remove the gangway? Eliminating the method for boarding the ship?”

“Doesn’t matter, Will. The portal’ll stay put. We can’t take the risk,” Jack said, sighing.

“Captain?” It was Andy. “What if we set an explosive charge? Blow the device up.”

Hart shook his head. “These power panels would go nuclear and we’d end up with a mushroom cloud where Cardiff used to be.” He looked at the immortals. “This isn’t something any of you can solve.”

“What about her vortex manipulator?” Gwen asked through the comm unit. “Jack? You could use it to teleport yourself back after you deactivate the device. It’ll instantly transport you home.”

Hart raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “That’s risky, Jack, but doable.”

To Jack it was risky but for an entirely different reason. There was no way he wanted to leave Cassie alone with Hart and Miranda, not now that they were both after her blood.

“I’ll do it,” Ianto volunteered. He stepped over to Hart, holding out his hand for the vortex manipulator.

“Oi, I know how to use this thing, Eye Candy. I call dibs when I get back,” Hart said and began strapping it to his own wrist. “Come to papa.”

Jack ripped the manipulator out of Hart's hands. “I need someone fluent in Ekumen for interrogation.”

“Oh, c’mon, Jack,” Hart whinged. “I’ve got a functional manipulator back!”

“I'll do it,” Gwen said.

“No, I will,” Andy said, immediately after.

“No,” Gwen interrupted. “Andy, it's too dangerous.”

“Oi, listen you lot,” Andy said, angrily. “From what I'm hearing, it's dangerous no matter who does it. I can hit a button on something just as easily as anyone else.”

“Jack, you can't seriously consider letting him do this!” Gwen shouted through the comm.

Jack stood there, his arms folded and his chin tucked into his chest. He tried to make it look like he was reasoning it out but it was clear to him which one of them was the most expendable. “Andy, please meet Captain Hart in the aft crew quarters. He'll instruct you on the deactivation of the device and the use of the vortex manipulator.”

“Jack!” Gwen thundered. “You can't!”

“Double time, Andy,” Jack said.

They heard Gwen and Andy before they saw them, the woman attempting to talk her former partner out of his decision. Jack could see the fight in Gwen about to shift to him but cut her off with, “No, Gwen.”

“But-”

“No,” Jack snapped. He leaned in and said, “Pack up the kit and get back to the SUV. Empty out the boot so we can put her in it. That's an order.”

Gwen whirled and stormed off. Jack looked at Ianto and Miranda. “John? Come up when you're done. We'll wait for you up top. Set it up for the main Hub, in an hour.” Slightly prickly, he added, “And use the calculation feature, please.”

Hart rolled his eyes. “Yes, I'll use the bloody calculation feature.” The others left the room and Hart began fiddling with the manipulator.

“So what's this thing do? Is it from the future?” Andy asked, leaning over.

Hart snapped his head up and said, “Oi, step back. These calculations are complicated and you don't want to end up in the middle of Cardiff a bloody thousand years from now or on Mars yesterday.”

“I thought he said there was a calculation feature,” Andy objected.

“There is and I'm using it, but there are base calculations that need to be done by hand first. They're relatively simple and I'm triple checking them because the last thing I want is you in the wrong place or time. You've no idea how to use this thing and you'd be up shit creek.” Hart kept his head down, tapping out the numbers and calculations into the vortex manipulator.

Andy dutifully obeyed. He waited a few minutes, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Hart stepped over and picked up a pen and an envelope. He jotted down some numbers and symbols that meant nothing to Andy. While Hart had said the calculations were simple, they looked fucking complicated as Hell to his eyes. Andy appreciated the care Hart was taking. The man checked and rechecked the numbers. In fact, he paused and even contacted Jack on his comm unit, asking the other former Time Agent to verify his maths. Finally satisfied, Hart looked up and asked, “You right or left handed?”

“Right.”

“Gimme your arm. No your other arm,” Hart said, pointing at his left.

Andy held his arm up and said, “So what's this thing do? Is it from the future?”

Hart nodded as he strapped it to Andy's left wrist, adjusting it so it was snug. “Fifty first century technology at its best. It's a vortex manipulator, best friend to Time Agents everywhere.”

“Whatever you say, mate.” Andy scoffed. He didn't follow what Hart said and assumed he was making some sort of joke.

Hart raised an eyebrow. “Jack not fill you in?”

Andy shook his head, shrugging. “On what?”

The former Time Agent rolled his eyes. “Basic plot? Jack and I are from the future - the fifty-first century. So, about three thousand years. We used to be partners in the Time Agency, a temporal law enforcement body. But now we're slumming it with you lot. Comprender?”

Andy nodded, his eyes wide.

“I'll get to the manipulator in a minute. First, let's talk about this,” Hart gestured at the bed. “This is also a piece of fifty-first century technology. Don't worry about how it does what it does, but basically it's forming a bubble around this boat, keeping the planet's atmosphere out while also creating a portal to Earth. It's very, very basic. This bit on the end? It's the off button. You pull it out, like so and then twist it away from you until it stops. Then you push it back in to turn the device off. The field that is creating the portal between this planet and Earth, and the force field holding the planet's atmosphere out will both collapse.”

“So I'll be trapped on a planet without any breathable air,” Andy said, nodding.

Hart said, reassuringly, and tapped the wrist strap, “Not for long, mate. You have this. Now this next bit's important so pay attention. Like I said, that thing keeping the ship here's pretty basic. It's not designed to compensate for major air pressure or gravitational differences so that means this planet's close to Earth normal because we didn't feel a big shift when we boarded. This is good news because it means it'll take time for the gases of the native atmosphere to mingle with this one. You'll probably have a full minute of breathable air, probably more.”

“That's reassuring,” Andy said, feeling better.

“I'm only telling you this so you know this isn't a suicide mission. Don't get me wrong, it's still bloody dangerous. So don't sit around and admire the scenery, leave this room or open up that window and take a deep breath. The minute you turn off that thing, you activate the wrist strap and come on home, mate.”

Andy nodded. “I will.”

“Good. So, here's the vortex manipulator crash course. This thing does exactly what its name implies - it manipulates the vortex of time and space to teleport you through it. It can send you anywhere or anywhen, but jumps farther than a few thousand years at a time aren't recommended. That doesn't matter much, you're only going ahead one hour.” He flipped the strap open. “This is the control piece. To the right, the speaker-microphone combination, the display and the customisable buttons. Since this is Cassie's I have no idea what she's programmed them to do so don't touch them on their own. To the left you have the selection button, the menu toggle and the blue activation button. It's already set so alls you need to do is hit that blue button along with all the other buttons simultaneously and you're golden. It's easiest if you use your whole hand and just mash it down over the whole thing.”

“It's safe, isn't it?” Andy asked, wary.

Hart nodded. “It's accurate to plus or minus three attoseconds.” At the other man's confusion he said, “One quintillionth.” At the continued confusion, he said, “Really fucking small. Anyway, there is a one trillionth of a percent chance that this thing will kill you and the same that it'll fuck up and put you somewhere other than it should've.”

“I can live with that,” Andy said, smiling. He squinted at the display. “I can't read it.”

“It's in Ekumen, a standardised language used in the future,” Hart said. He leaned over and began cycling through the menu. “I can change it to twenty first century English.”

“You don't have to. Not like I'll be using it,” Andy said, shrugging.

“It'll just take a second. I'll be getting this beauty when you come back, so I may as well switch it the local lingo,” Hart said. As he worked, he continued, “And I have to explain something else anyway. After you activate it, you'll be pulled into the vortex. It's going to feel like you grabbed a car driving past that was going a hundred miles an hour. When you land, you're going to feel like you just slammed into a brick wall, also going a hundred miles an hour. The vortex is disorienting. You won't know which way is up or down and back or front. When you land, you're gonna feel like you've got the worst hangover of your bloody life for about a minute or two so don't be surprised if you get sick. The muscle weakness and jelly leg feeling will go away in a few minutes so don't be scared if you can't stand when you get there. For some reason, short jumps feel worse than longer ones.” Hart finished his speech and let go of the manipulator. “Any questions?”

Andy turned it to him, smiling that the display was now readable. He shook his head. “Nope. I guess I'll see you in an hour.”

He squeezed Andy's shoulder. “I'm going to go up deck. I'll contact you over your comm unit before I step off. The signal won't go through the portal for some reason. Once I break contact, give me a full minute, just in case.”

Once he was alone, he began looking at the device. He wanted to pick it up and fiddle with it but he knew that would be a colossally stupid idea. Instead, he waited.

Quite a while longer than he thought it should've taken to walk upstairs, Hart's voice came over his comm unit. “Okay, Andy, I'm at the gangway. Good luck and I'll see you in a few hours.”

“Yeah, see you then.”

Andy took out his mobile and set a timer for a minute even though he heard a small click on the comm unit. He turned to where Hart had been scribbling on the envelop, examining the complex equations. They didn't mean a single thing to him. He'd ask the fifty first century man about it later. He folded the envelop up and shoved it into his pocket. When his timer went off, he knelt down to pull the pin out but realised that Torchwood would probably want the technology to take it apart of examine it. He put his mobile into his pocket, and hoping he wasn't damaging anything, he carefully folded the device up in the blanket with the power panels. He made sure it was well padded and secure, but with the pin accessible. It was lighter than he thought it would be. He pulled out the pin the way Hart had shown him. He twisted it away from him until it stopped and then pushed it back in. The smell of rotting eggs immediately began to grow stronger and stronger. Fumbling with his arms full, he reached over and smashed his hand onto the wrist strap, making sure he felt all the buttons depress.

As he felt the vortex snatch him up, he yelped with equal amounts of excitement and surprise, “Geronimo!”

 


	24. Chapter 24

Jack vaguely registered what little he heard of Hart's explanation of the device as he led Cassie up to the main deck. He would have preferred to take on the risky job himself, but he didn't want to let Cassie out of his sight, even if it would only be for a few seconds. He didn't trust Miranda to obey his orders and he didn't feel confident that his husband could stop her if she set her sights on Cassie. He knew nothing got in the way of Miranda and vengeance. His former partner also seemed out for her blood so Jack had two people on his team to keep an eye on though Hart seemed to be having a much better time keeping himself under control than Miranda. The immoral woman's anger was like lava. Jack could practically see it oozing out of her pores.

He'd deal with it later. First, he needed to get Cassie back to the Hub with Hart so they could begin interrogating her and decide what to do with her. It was a simple problem with a simple solution – cryostasis.

Cassie barked out, “All three of you should be done, dead as doornails, taking a dirt nap, food for worms.”

“Well, we're not,” Ianto said, jerking her arm.

“How?” she asked. There was no curiosity in her voice, just accusation. She couldn't believe they were alive and wanted to know purely because it was hurting her ego.

Jack let out a snort. “None of your business. Keep moving.”

She didn't have much of a choice, bound and led by both the two men. When they got to the deck, Jack paused. “I want to wait for John.”

“Never one without the other,” Cassie snipped, rolling her eyes. “You know when you left, I thought you'd gone back to him. It was always Wixson this and Wixson that. You always carried him. You were the better agent. He only got into the academy because of his father and was only able to keep up because of you. Isco-Tha said Wixson was rubbish.” She turned and spat on the ground.

Miranda took a threatening step towards her. Her voice like ice. “I take it that is a similar insult on your world.”

“Will, back it up,” Jack said, holding his hand out.

She didn't move at first. After a moment, she narrowed her eyes, and backed away.

In Ekumen, Cassie muttered, “Stupid ape.”

Miranda's Ekumen might not be fluent, and the literal translation was something more like 'ignorant or uneducated savage,' but Cassie got her point across and hadn't expected her to understand. Miranda re-closed the distance between them again. She switched to the futuristic language, carefully enunciating every word, “Another weakling of the future. You will regret the moment you ever came here.”

Something about the stony chill coming off Miranda made Cassie lean back a little.

“Will, I said, back it up.”

“Jack…” Cassie muttered, nervous.

Miranda didn’t take her eyes off Cassie’s. “He is only buying you time.”

“Will, that’s enough,” Jack barked. He pointed at the portal. “Go help Gwen.”

Without another word, she turned and stepped off the gangway.

“So that’s your plan, is it? Turn me over to your dog?” Cassie asked.

Jack jerked her arm. “Shut up or I really will. She'll make what the Tribunal'll do to you look like a spring festival.”

Cassie fell silent. Jack and Ianto stood there alone with her, waiting for Hart to finish explaining things to Andy. After a few short minutes, Hart appeared and asked, “Where’s Miranda?”

“I sent her to cool off,” Jack said, tersely.

He was about to question Hart further but before he or Ianto could stop him, Hart landed a solid punch to the centre of Cassie’s chest and she stumbled back. If it weren’t for their hands on her, she would’ve fallen. A punch to the sternum like that was the human equivalent of a kick to the crotch, as painful as it was humiliating. Cassie doubled over and Jack stood up, pulling Hart away from her, but not before he inhaled noisily, and then spat a huge wad of spit and mucous right into her face. Hart flung Jack off but made no further attempt to assault her. Jack stood between them nonetheless.

“That fucking cunt killed my sister!” Grief, anger and regret flickered across Hart's face in quick succession. The last expression was apologetic as he looked at Jack,. “You were right. Papa sent her. She killed Judi and she’s here for me. Papa's going to commute her death sentence in exchange for me.”

Now this was a serious problem. That bastard wasn't going to go away once he smelled blood. Jack tossed his handkerchief to Ianto who began wiping Cassie's face. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut and she was trying to catch her breath, unable to stand. Jack didn’t say, ‘I told you so’ but he wanted to. Instead, he softly said, “It’s done, John.”

Hart pushed away, running a hand through his hair. He muttered, “Fucking trail of shit behind me everywhere I go... because of _him_. That poisonous _fuck!”_

“Hey, we’ll deal with this,” Jack said.

With his hands on his hips and his head hanging, Hart said, “I’m sorry, Jack. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“I’m sorry too. For your loss,” Jack said, softly. He walked over Hart and put his hand on his shoulder. He’d met Hart’s older sister only once and of all the Wixson siblings, he’d liked her and Een the best. “Does Will know?”

He nodded. “I told her.”

That explained Miranda’s sudden rise in volatility. “Let’s get her back to the Hub. We’ll deal with this then. We need to figure out how to get your father off your trail or he won’t ever stop. You know that.”

“Probably wants my head on a fucking pike.” He shook his head. “It’s not just about the money. I must remind him of Een’s betrayal - tossing it all up for love. It's killing him – that I'm here in the past. The Time Agency's shut down and he can't pull strings at Torchwood to get me back somehow if Judi's dead.”

“It doesn’t matter why. We just need to figure out a solution,” Jack said. He took hold of Cassie’s arm again, him and Ianto leading her off the ship with Hart trailing behind them.

“Hold up a second, Jack. Eye Candy? Can you give me a minute on that stopwatch of yours?” He tapped his comm unit. “Okay, Andy, I'm at the gangway. Good luck and I'll see you in an hour.”

Hart nodded at Ianto who depressed his stopwatch’s button. After Andy replied, they all stepped off the ship and back to Cardiff. Standing on the dock, they all stood there, staring at it. Ianto counted down the last few seconds but nothing happened. Another minute later, the half gangway tumbled into the water with a large splash.

“You set it for an hour?” Jack asked.

“Yeah, one hour, middle of the Hub,” he said with a nod. “You two go ahead, I’ll take your six.”

Hart roughly scrubbed at his face, trying to force back his grief and guilt to get himself into the proper headspace for this. He needed to be alert. This was her greatest opportunity for escape. The emotions he was attempting to suppress put a roughness in his throat he tried to clear. He tilted his head up, watching Cassie carefully as they moved away from the docks and into the car park, his hand on his guns.

Miranda and Gwen were waiting at the SUV, both women had their weapons drawn but lowered. Since Cassie wouldn’t be able to sit in one of the seats, they had the boot open. It wouldn’t be the most comfortable way to travel but none of them gave a shit. Hart was watching her carefully as she swished her tail back and forth, something naturally Dromanian.

Dromanians may not be a strong species but they're fast. Hart hadn't taken his eyes off of her, but he had no time to react as her tail arced up. Its restraint device clubbed Ianto on the side of his head with a dull thud. The Welshman hit the ground, out cold without ever knowing what the fuck had hit him. Just as everyone else began to react, Cassie whipped her tail again, this time in Jack's direction. She was so fast Jack had barely had time to register that Ianto was down. He had no time to dodge or block the blow and went down like a tonne of bricks. Hart surged forward, looping his arm through Cassie’s and reached for the flailing tail with his other. They both crashed to the ground and Hart felt the point of his elbow impact the pavement. It sent a jolt through his arm, causing a momentary loss of sensation.

Miranda and Gwen were running flat out to help him, but it wasn’t fast enough. Hart lost his grip and Cassie started to flee. Determined to not allow her to escape, he rolled and dove for her leg, seizing it by the ankle. He dug his fingers into the flesh and she fell. Hart heard the sound of bullets whizzing past him. Gwen must've opened fire because Miranda wouldn't have trusted her aim with him so close.

Cassie turned, kicking him in the face. The claws of her feet scraping his cheek, leaving a large gash on his cheek and forehead. He fell back with a shout, his hand involuntarily rising to his face. Cassie leapt up. She lifted one of her feet and crushed it to Hart’s chest, digging in hard with her long claws. Blood began to ooze around them as she twisted her foot for good measure. Hart scream was blood curdling. She leaned down, let out a bird-like growl, and then said, “Nice knowing you, Wixson.”

When she ripped her foot free, blood spouted up like a fountain and Cassie bolted. Miranda let out a cry of rage but to Gwen's utter shock, she didn't fall to her knees beside Hart. Instead, she ran past him, continuing her pursuit of Cassie. It was Gwen who skidded on her knees next to Hart. His hands were feebly pressed into the wounds, trying to staunch the flow of his own blood. Gwen saw terror and panic in his eyes.

“Easy there, Vera!” she said, yanking her coat off. She balled it up and then pressed it into the wound as Hart let out another scream. Gwen shouted so loudly, her throat hurt, _“MIRANDA!”_

She looked over her shoulder, but all she saw was Miranda's back as she kept running away in Cassie's direction. Gwen didn't even bother seeing where Cassie had gone or whether or not Miranda's pursuit would be successful. Hart was her primary concern now. Her thin coat was already soaking with his blood.

_“MIRANDA! GET BACK HERE!”_

But the other woman didn’t hear her or wouldn't. Her blood pounded in Miranda's ears, pumping rage and venom with each beat of her heart. The need to spill Cassie's blood drove her as she pursued the alien even though she was long gone. The Horseman in her bucked and reared. It wanted to rip, gouge and carve, to make pain Cassie's sole existence as she put more and more distance between her and the injured Captain Hart and frantic Gwen Cooper.

Hart needed serious medical attention. Gwen knew enough to recognise that the pressure behind the initial blood spurt had been arterial. Miranda was now a fair distance away, still running after Cassie. Gwen took the only option left to her. She pressed her knee into her coat, her blood sticky fingers fumbling with her mobile so she could summon an ambulance.

“Cooper, Gwen. Torchwood authorisation, three six lima, sierra one seven six five, alpha one. I need an ambulance immediately! Shots fired. Operative down. Gunshot wound to the chest. Penarth Marina car park.” Once the nine-nine-nine operator assured her the ambulance was on its way, Gwen dropped her mobile, pushing the coat into the wound harder to try and staunch the blood.

Hart closed his eyes, and Gwen could see he was trying to rein in his terror. He squeezed his eyes shut, accentuating the crow's feet at the corners. Tears leaked out.

“Mei...”

Gwen turned, looking over her shoulder. Miranda had completely vanished from sight. Gwen couldn't stop the tears from welling up in her eyes. Softly, she said, “Hang on, Vera.”

“Mei...”

The pleading in Hart's voice wrenched Gwen's heart. She looked around, but there was still no sign of Miranda anywhere. Hart's hands grabbed her wrists, squeezing hard enough to bruise. She whipped her head back around, locking their gazes. His eyes screamed at her, pleaded and begged with horror, _Don't leave me, too._

“Hang on,” she whispered. “Hang on, Vera.”

He gave her a weak nod, loosening his grip on her wrists and then let go completely. He rested his hands on his belly and took several extremely slow breaths in and out, trying to relax to lower his blood pressure and ease the bleeding. Gwen could tell it was helping, but not enough.

Indignant, she couldn't stop her own tears from sliding down her cheeks and landing on Hart's face. She couldn't believe Miranda had left them here. The silence between them was pregnant with too much dread, regret, helplessness and disappointment. Gwen tried to give Hart a weak smile when he opened his eyes, but there was something wrong. His eyes were open, staring in her direction, but they gazed through her, as if focused on something only Hart could see. His face was deathly pale and his lips had a bluish tinge to them. The terror and desperation had left his eyes. Gwen recognised the almost peaceful look of acceptance and it chilled her to the bone. _He knows he's going to die._

All Hart saw was dark hair and a pale face. A strange floaty and weakened feeling spread over his limbs. His voice felt far away, but he had things he needed to say. “Don't cry, love. I love you. I always have. Moment I saw you.”

“You're going to be fine,” she whispered. Her voice was thick with sorrow.

“Since that first night we’ve never lied to each other, don’t start now,” he said. His voice was even weaker. A feeling of disconnection began to wash over him. He could no longer feel the ground below him and even the knee in his shoulder, which had hurt like a bitch a moment ago.

 _So, this is it? Huh... It’s not so bad_ … _not such a bad way to go..._ his mind distantly registered. He spent his whole life dreading of this moment and now that it was here, he felt oddly peaceful. Oh, he was terrified but dying in her arms made it tolerable.“Mei…”

“Hold on. The ambulance is on its way. You're going to be fine.”

“Liar.” He gave her a weak smile. He didn’t know for whose benefit she was speaking – his or her own. He took another breath that didn’t hurt as badly but was harder than the last one. He felt like he was beginning to drift into a dark space, neither falling nor floating. The world around him became veiled in a hazy static that buzzed in his head.

 _Hurry_ … He had so much he wanted to say and not enough time to say it. He opened his eyes and saw her face. _So beautiful_. “Happiest time of my life… with you… You taught me love... taught me to feel... taught me that I had... had worth...”

His eyes fluttered shut. A strange tingle spread through his limbs, they felt heavy.

“John! John?”

“S’okay… really… not such a bad… bad way to go,” he said, his voice failing.

“You’re not going anywhere! Do you hear me?! Not yet!”

“Don’t think we… have any… say in the matter… D… Doll… Dollface,” he whispered. Despite the growing numbness over his entire body, he cracked open his eyes and gave her a weak half smile. “The first time I said... was... to you... Glad you're the last... to you... My last thought...” He took one deep breath and with his last ounce of strength managed, “I love you. Always. Forever.”

He tried to will his hand to lift so he could touch her face but it was a hand he could no longer feel. He dimly registered sadness that he couldn’t feel her skin, or smell the woodsmoke and jasmine one last time. No, he didn't want sadness to be the last thing he felt. He let his heart fill with his love for her, overflowing as tears escaped his eyes that could no longer see.

The odd static in his brain spread as his consciousness seeped away, spreading out into an infinite void. 

And Captain John Hart disappeared into the darkness beyond.

 


	25. Chapter 25

Once Hart’s body slacked and stilled, Gwen lifted the knee pressed into his wound. Her mind became a complete blank slate of shock as her whole body began to shake. She collapsed backwards onto her seat, one hand across her mouth as she fought the urge to be sick.

This man had tried to kill her. He'd been complicit in the murder of her friends. She loathed him with nearly every fibre in her being. She'd never done more than tolerated his presence, because she'd never forgiven nor forgotten the trespasses he'd committed.

And he had died in her arms thinking she was the person he loved most in the world and who loved him that way in return.

It made her feel sick and dirty. His words churned her stomach past its breaking point. Gwen crawled a few feet to her right to a grassy area and vomited on the ground. _She should've been here with you, not me... not me..._ anyone _but me..._ She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, trying to drown out the raw love of Hart's words.

It wasn't until the ambulance squealed into the car park that Gwen got herself under control. She stood up, holding her Torchwood ID aloft as they opened the back.

“Sorry, sorry,” she said, her voice still rough. She wasn't sure to whom she was apologising. “It's too late. Go. Just go.”

The two paramedics looked lost as they looked at Hart, Ianto and Jack. They were about to open their mouths, but Gwen shook her head then waved them off. Silently, they drove away, the lights on the ambulance dark.

Gwen walked over to Ianto and Jack. After feeling for a pulse, she determined they were just unconscious, not dead. There was nothing she could do and she couldn't move them. They were simply too heavy for her. Even if Miranda were here, they'd have difficulty with the two very large grown men.

At the thought of Miranda, Gwen felt rage bubbling in her belly. The pointlessness of it ate at her. There was absolutely no reason for her to pursue Cassie, whatsoever. Whatever ulterior motive Jack had for wanting Cassie alive was a secondary concern. They had Fish back. The ship was neutralised. She'd done nothing more than pursue some ridiculous need for revenge and had left the man she loved to die alone.

Gwen sat back and just stared off into the distance. She needed to have herself a good cry but now wasn't the time. The tumult of emotions roaring in her was too complex a mixture for her to pick apart right now. It was all too raw, too fresh. Right now, she just needed to keep a tight hold on herself. Later, when she could get home to Rhys, that's when she'd fall apart properly so he could put her back together again. She closed her eyes, breathing deep of the sea air.

The sound of Jack groaning distracted her enough. With shuddering breath, she stood up and cleared her throat. She walked over to Jack and knelt down, taking firm hold of his arm.

“Jack?” she said, her voice rough.

“Oh... my head,” he said, sitting up. He turned to Gwen, taking in her strained expression. “What happened?”

“Cassie's escaped,” she said, sniffling. “And John... he... he's...”

Jack looked around and saw Hart laying on the ground, facing away from him. But as the wind ruffled his hair, Jack instantly knew he was dead. There was something fundamentally wrong with his stillness. The curl of his half opened hand was too relaxed. Jack crawled over to his fallen friend. He reached out his hand, hesitant to touch him, as if his touch would make the whole thing real. After he gripped Hart's jacket in his fist, he immediately relaxed it, then smoothed the cloth to free it from the wrinkles. He brushed at Hart's hair back with a tender touch, sliding himself so he was seated directly next to the body.

Gwen put her hand on Jack's shoulder, snaking her arm down so it crossed his chest. She gripped him tightly, pressing herself into his back. Neither of them said a word as Jack silently cried, staring down at Hart's still form. A hand rested lightly on Jack's shoulder. When he looked up, he saw Ianto's face staring down at him with sympathy and a small measure of his own grief. He knelt beside them, rested his hand briefly on Hart's forehead and then stood, looking about.

“Where's Mandy?”

Gwen replied, stonily, “Cassie ran off that way. Miranda went after her.” Her voice cracked as she said, “Left him here, she did. Couldn't see anything but Cassie's head on a pike.”

Jack nodded and sighed.

“No, you don't understand,” Gwen snapped. “He was still alive.”

“What?” Jack gasped.

Gwen couldn't keep her voice from shaking as she said, “He was alive, begging for her. He died in my arms.”

Jack's jaw clenched, but he said nothing. Ianto's expression was unreadable and Gwen took it as disappointment. Shaking his head, Ianto turned towards the SUV. Jack stood up, looking around. “How long?”

“I don't know. Half hour? Maybe?” She also stood.

Ianto returned with a body bag underneath his arm. He paused, looking at Jack expectantly.

“We're not waiting for her.”

Together the three of them reverently placed Hart into the body bag. They folded down the seats and put him into the SUV. Before pulling away, Jack gave one last look around for Miranda. Not seeing her, he drove away. The drive was spent in complete silence. When they got to the Hub garage, they carefully slid the body bag onto the trolley, wheeling Hart through the main Hub and into the autopsy bay.

When the UNIT soldiers saw the body bag. One of them caught Ianto's eye, silently asking about the occupant's identity.

“It's not Doctor Fischer,” Ianto said, to their relief, but quickly followed it with, “it's Captain Hart.”

The soldier immediately snapped to attention, saluting. The other soldiers followed, paying their respects. Jack regarded them with gratitude, knowing Hart would never have thought himself worthy of such respect. Once the trolley was in the autopsy bay, all of them froze, staring at the closed body bag.

With her head down, Gwen left the autopsy bay. As she walked up the steps, she said, stiffly, “I need some air.”

“Me too,” Jack said, swirling away.

Neither surprised no upset at being left alone, Ianto stepped towards the instrument cupboard with the intention of beginning the post-mortem but paused. Even though Torchwood regulations stated the post-mortem of a deceased operative needed to be performed as soon as possible, Ianto paused. He dropped down in his chair and ran his fingers through his hair. He stood up and unzipped the bag, peeling it back just enough to see Hart's face. Despite the violent death, Hart looked peaceful and serene. It was an expression Ianto never thought the fifty-first century man was capable of.

“I spent a lot of time hating you for one reason or another. I'm sorry about that,” he said. He put his hand on Hart's shoulder, trying to ignore the stiffening of the flesh beneath the clothing. “When you looked at him, I saw how you felt about him and I saw regret there too. I know you loved him, but you'd moved on. I could tell, but you still loved him. I love him too... enough for both of us.”

There was a soft throat clear from the stairway. Ianto snapped his head up and yanked his hand back. It was almost embarrassed in its haste.

“Yes, Corporal?” he asked.

“Gordon, sir.” He scarcely needed the reminder. She stepped down the stairs. “I'm sorry to interrupt you. I just wanted to offer to perform the post-mortem for you.”

Ianto pulled the professional mask down over his face, straightening his posture. He glanced at the table. Miranda still didn't even know Hart was dead. “Thank you, Corporal, but the Captain will be moving to our cold storage for now. The post-mortem will wait.”

She nodded. “When you're ready, the offer still stands, sir.” She gave him a serious look. “No one should have to autopsy their friend.”

“Thank you,” he said, nodding.

“I'm sorry for your loss,” she said. It didn't sound perfunctory, but genuine.

He was going to thank her again, but she walked away. As he stood up to wheel Hart downstairs, the proximity alerts went off. A bare second later, pressure flared in his head.

 _Mandy_. He took a deep breath and hurried out into the main Hub to stop her before she got too far inside.

“Oh, Ifan! There you are! Where's Jack?” she asked, frantically. Her voice was almost manic. Her eyes were wild and ablaze.

“Mandy, listen, I need you to sit down,” he said, pushing on her shoulders.

Ignoring him, she tried to push past him, but he wouldn't let her. “I lost Cassie, but I know where she may be headed. There may still be time-”

“Mandy, _listen to me!”_ he said, shaking her a little.

The harshness of his voice and the intensity of his gaze was the only thing that got her to pause. Looking a little confused and very annoyed, she allowed herself to be led to one of the workstations, the chair hastily vacated by the UNIT soldier. She was so distracted, she didn't notice the piteous look he gave her as Ianto pushed her down to sit.

C _hrist, how do I tell her?_ He took another deep breath and said, “Cassie injured John when she tried to escape... Mandy… He's dead. I'm sorry.”

Miranda stood up. “What?”

He looked up at the sound of the invisible lift’s gears. He didn’t have time to sort out whether it was Gwen or Jack. Over the sound of the gears, Ianto repeated, “John's dead. Cassie killed him when she escaped.”

She took two steps back, the colour draining from her face.

“There you are!” Gwen spat as the lift came to a halt.

 _Well, that answers that_. Ianto didn't have a chance to stop her and none of the UNIT soldiers realised she needed stopping. She ran across the Hub, and in a truly suicidal move, fisted Miranda's shirt in her hands, and then punched the other woman square in the face. Both women dropped to the floor as Gwen grabbed a fistful of Miranda’s hair. When the blood was flowing from Miranda's nose and cheek, Gwen shook her and shouted, “You monster!”

Ianto moved to separate them but Gwen was having none of it. She reached out and grabbed hold of his crotch. Ianto barely had time to register the fact that her fingers were around his cock and balls before she squeezed. Hard.

With a shout, he fell backwards into one of the UNIT soldiers arms. His eyes watered with pain as he curled into a ball. The UNIT soldiers moved to separate the two women, but Gwen drew her gun and pointed it at Miranda's head. The soldiers, on Jack’s insistence, were not armed within the Hub. They stood back, unsure of how to defuse the situation.

With her free hand, Gwen shook the other woman, hard. “All he wanted was you! He begged for you! And you left him! _YOU LEFT HIM!”_

Miranda made no move to defend herself or reply. “He died in my arms when all he wanted was yours and you left him behind like he was muck on your shoes! But that's what you do, isn't it?”

Her voice lowered as she hissed, “You leave people behind.”

The unadulterated fury widened Gwen's doe eyes into saucers. Her volume steadily rose. “His dying words were for you - beautiful words from a loving heart I didn't know that bastard had!” She leaned until she was mere inches from Miranda's face. She lowered her voice again and whispered with venom, “And I'll take them to my grave, I will, before I let you hear them, you heartless bitch.”

With that, Gwen stood up and stormed away. Ianto took a couple of huffed breaths, trying to get the searing pain in his groin to subside as he stood. He was still hunched and when he tried to take a step, he decided against it as pain shot up through his groin and into his back. Miranda didn't move, just stayed on the Hub floor, staring upwards.

 _What have I done?_ were the words that cycled round and round in Miranda’s head. All she'd seen was Cassie. The hatred had pounded through her until she'd felt nothing else. It had narrowed her vision, focusing like a predator on the alien woman. Miranda had wanted nothing more than to tear the woman's throat open with her own teeth. So blinded by rage, she'd noticed nothing but the direction Cassie had fled and had barely registered when her comm unit had fallen out of her ear.

Even though Miranda had had no visual contact with Cassie, she’d continued to follow the strange alien tracks in the dirt until she'd lost the trail on a road. Angry and frustrated, she'd seen confused and affronted pedestrians and had followed in that direction. She’d followed Cassie in that manner for some time until the trail had gone cold, which hadn’t taken long. By the time she’d returned to the marina’s car park, the team had gone. The long walk back to the Hub had been sufficient to calm her down and allow her to think of where Cassie might be headed given the trajectory of her retreat.

She’d expected to return to the Hub and find Hart injured but alive. She remembered seeing John injured but nothing more. At the time, a dim thought in the back of her mind had reassured her that John was in good hands with Gwen and that the former PC would certainly summon medical assistance. John hadn’t been that badly hurt… had he? She tried to remember, to conjure the image that had given her the excuse to continue her pursuit, but she couldn't.

 _Dead?_ Her mind couldn’t even conjure up the meaning of the word. _Gone. He’s gone_. Her mind began to spin with the words and her world imploded. A strange numbness descended over her. A heaviness draped itself over her mind and thought became impossible. In fact, every thought that entered her mind was like an ice pick in her ear. She rolled onto her side and then pushed herself up.

With the help of one of the UNIT soldiers, Ianto had managed to manoeuver into a chair to sit. The young woman was speaking to him in low tones, insisting she examine him while Ianto shook his head.

Miranda overheard them, but what they said went into one ear and straight out the other. Her mind was begging for proof – some concrete evidence that would prove Ianto wrong.

She turned and Ianto wasn’t sure what frightened him the most – the thousand yard stare in her eyes or the eerie calm to her voice. “Where is he, Ifan?”

“They autopsy bay,” he replied. He managed to stand, the pain reducing to a dull ache. “I haven’t started the post mortem yet.”

She nodded. “If I may have some time first?”

“Of course,” he said, moving to follow her.

She waved him down. “I'd like to be alone.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mandy,” he said, but she ignored him.

One heavy footfall after another brought her to the autopsy bay. From the top of the stairs, she saw the partially open body bag. Hart's head was tilted towards her, his eyes were closed. The body hadn’t been autopsied nor had it been cleaned. The gash on his face marred his handsome features. The blood was dry and flaking off his skin. Hart’s t-shirt and coat were stained through with buckets of blood. The graphic reality was presented to her in every harsh detail. Miranda's eyes began to burn as her bottom lip began to tremble and her world rotated, sliding her into oblivion.

She took one step down and then another. When her foot hit the last step, her knee buckled and she went down like a heap, the back of her hand resting against her mouth. From her place on the cold tile floor she could no longer see Hart's face. She tried to stand, but her body wouldn't obey. Frozen, her legs awkwardly tangled beneath her, she didn't sob. She let out a wail that echoed upwards through the Hub. The grief reverberated through the cavernous space as it burrowed its way through Miranda's heart. She let out stringy wail after wail, heartbroken and defeated.

Neither Ianto nor any of the UNIT soldiers approached her. They stood back as she grieved. Ianto knew her suffering was not just from the loss of a lover, but from the plague of regret that she had brought upon herself. He felt Jack's presence before he saw him. His husband draped his greatcoat over the autopsy bay railing and took one step at a time, very slowly, as if approaching a wounded animal. He sat down on the step behind Miranda and put his hand on her shoulder. The simple touch deflated her. Her lamentation faded and she leaned back into Jack's arms as the immortal man lifted her up, cradling her against his chest. Her mouth was open, but no sound came as tears coursed down her cheeks, staining Jack’s shirt. To Ianto, she looked like a small child, vulnerable and meek.

Ianto heard Jack whisper softly to her, “I've got you. I always will. You won’t ever lose me. Ever.”

He moved to follow Jack as he carried Miranda away, but Jack gave him a subtle head shake.

“His wife?” Gordon asked.

Ianto nodded.

“Were they together long?”

“Not long enough.”

“Is it ever?” was her reply.

“No,” he said, with a sigh. “It isn't.”

She turned for the autopsy bay. “I'll begin the post-mortem.”

Ianto snagged her arm. “No. I appreciate the offer, I do, but I'm going to await the Captain's orders.”

She nodded and looked at her watch. “My shift is over. If you change your mind, I'll be downstairs. Don't worry about waking me.”

“Thank you, Corporal,” he said.

She gave him a tight smile and walked over towards the north stairs, passing Jack on his way back up. Thinking she might be needed, she followed a discrete distance behind Jack back into the Hub.

Jack took a deep breath and said, “I gave her a dose of sedative and put her into our bed.”

Ianto nodded. He shifted his feet, lining them up against each other, then cleared his throat. With one arm behind his back, he glanced at Corporal Gordon and then turned to Jack, asking officially, “We still need to perform the post-mortem. Are there any cultural or religious customs you think he’d want respected?”

At that Jack tilted his head, thinking. He crossed his arms over his chest, gripping opposite arms. He twisted at the waist to spare the Corporal a small glanced and then turned back to Ianto, shaking his head.

“Very good, sir.” Ianto gave a nod to Gordon who returned it. She side stepped Jack and started for the autopsy bay. He continued, hiding behind his professionalism, “When I've finished, I'll file the paperwork in the time sensitive section of the archive. I don't believe we have any time locks left. Is there a specific drawer you'd prefer?”

Jack took a few quick steps forward, touching Gordon’s arm. When she turned, he said to them both, “Hold off on the autopsy. No drawer yet.”

“Sir?” Gordon asked.

“Head on to bed, Corporal, thank you,” Ianto said with a grateful nod.

With a confused shrug, the young UNIT soldier walked away as Jack strode past them and into the autopsy bay. Ianto turned to follow his husband, concerned. He arrived in time to see Jack unzipping Hart’s body bag further. He watched as Jack touched Hart's hand, wincing at the stiffness of the flesh.

“No?” Ianto asked, confused.

“Cold storage for now.”

He opened his mouth to ask why but shut it again. There was a pensiveness about Jack that was incongruous with the sadness and grief.

“Are you all right, Cariad?”

Jack dragged Ianto's chair over to the trolley and sat down in it so he could stare at his friend. “When I left for the Time Agency, they were so proud of me. I was the first person from Boeshane ever to be signed up for it. What I arrived to was different. Everyone looked down at me because I was from nowhere. Except for him.” He wiped at his eyes. “I couldn't believe a Wixson wanted to have anything to do with me. Everyone knew about his family.” Jack shook his head and sighed. “I never understood why he was so keen to run cons with me. I thought it was just to make his old man angry. It certainly wasn't for the money. His family could've bought my whole planet. Twice. He played it off at first, like he just wanted to have fun – raise a little hell. But then I met his sister, Judith.”

“Cassie killed her.”

Jack nodded. “When I met her she was missing two fingers from her left hand... because their father cut them off.”

Ianto remembered Hart's words to him, _Every story has dark chapters. Jack has his. She has hers. Joe. Henry. Even yours. Everyone’s chapters have different titles like ‘my Mummy killed herself’ or ‘my Daddy touched me in places he shouldn’t._ He wondered if Hart had been talking about himself.

“His father was a monster, wasn't he?” Ianto asked.

Jack nodded again. “Drove their mother to suicide. Had his son's pregnant fiancée killed.” He let out a snort. “And that some of the tamer stuff he told me. Took him a long time to open up to me about it. Didn’t think anyone would believe him. I always said that he was more normal than he should be and that's saying something.”

At first, Jack had been reminiscing – remembering his friend. Now his tone changed to one of warning. “John's father is the embodiment of money, power and influence in the fifty first century. Untouchable.”

“He sent Cassie after him,” Ianto said, agreeing. “To follow him back through time is determined.”

“It’s easier to travel through time in the fifty-first century than you’d think. Sure the technology is highly regulated and controlled, but like everything it slips through the cracks,” Jack said with a sigh. “It’s why his father had him go into the Time Agency. Having an inside man made it easier. His father would send him on little off-book trips all the time.”

“But he’s after his inside man,” Ianto noted.

Jack nodded. “In that case, he would’ve bribed another agent. Not that hard to do, but the Agency’s shut down now, so he did the next best thing.”

“Cassie.”

He nodded again. “Joaquin Wixson’s the type who doesn’t take well to being made a fool out of. He won’t stop, Ianto. Today it’s Cassie. Tomorrow it’ll be someone else.”

“You’ve a plan then?” Ianto asked.

Jack nodded, taking out a device from his pocket. “This fell through the rift in a couple years ago.”

“What is it?”

“A single use time travel device.”

“You didn’t get that from the archive,” Ianto said, furrowing his brow a little. With his eidetic memory, he would know.

“I didn’t take it from the archive. It’s been in my nightstand. I was keeping it close in case of an emergency,” Jack said, softly. He turned the device in his hands.

“And this is the emergency.”

It wasn’t a question, just a statement. Jack nodded. “The only way I can see out of this? It’s for Cassie to succeed – let her escape back to the fifty-first with his body.” He let go of Hart's hand and turned to face his husband. “It's the only way, Ianto.”

Ianto's first instinct was to shout, to scream defiance, but deep down, he knew that Jack was right. It was the only way, like Jasmine and the fairies.

Seeing his acceptance, Jack turned back towards Hart. He just fell silent, looking at Hart’s face. He rested his hand on the body bag, reluctant to touch the cold, hard flesh again.

Ianto sensed the change in him and moved to stand behind him. He put his hand on Jack’s shoulder, firm and reassuring. “You loved him very much.”

“I'm going to miss him.”

Ianto let out a wry chuckle and said, “You won't have to miss him for long. He’s due to come back round, remember? This isn’t our version of him.”

At that, Jack sprang up, the desk chair skittering backwards into Ianto’s legs. The wheels hit his feet, rolled over his shoes and the chair crashed, toppling over. He cried, “Oh Gods! Where’s Andy?”

Ianto frowned at the soreness in his feet. He looked at his watch. “He's only a few minutes overdue.”

Jack flipped open his wrist strap. “This thing doesn't approximate.”

He started tapping away, then flicked at the screen. He put the strap to his ear and frowned. “He shouldn't be overdue by even a nanosecond.”

“Could Cassie have done something to her wrist strap?” Ianto asked, concerned.

Jack shook his head. “You can personalise and modify, but only to a point. Anything that would've endangered Andy's jump would've been obvious.” He looked around. “Where's Gwen?”

Ianto said, awkwardly, “She and Mandy had some words. I think she went to cool off.”

Jack put a hand to his forehead and rubbed. Tensions and emotions were running so high. He suddenly realised how tired he was. His eyes burned and his heart ached. “Put John downstairs and then get her back here. We need to start looking for Andy and Cassie.”

After wheeling Hart into cold storage, Ianto went to Fish's workstation. The UNIT soldier moved aside for him, snapping to attention.

“Can I be of assistance, sir?” he asked. “The rift storm has quieted. We're just monitoring now.”

“I’m just checking something. I’ll only be a minute,” Ianto said. He brought up the program that controlled their subcutaneous trackers. Even though the device wasn’t designed for this purpose, Ianto didn’t have time to locate Gwen the old fashioned way. Instead, he activated the tracker and pinged Gwen’s location. She was within the Hub, down in the shooting range. He shut down the program and turned the workstation back over to the soldier with a polite nod, then turned towards the north stairs.

When he got to the range, the yellow light was on. He opened the door cautiously and stuck his head in. There was no one at the firing point. In fact, Ianto didn't see anyone at all until he curled his head around the door. Gwen was sitting on the floor, facing the range with her knees drawn up into her chest as she hugged her legs. She wasn't crying, just staring at a random point on the floor. Ianto shut the door and then slid down it to sit beside her. He didn't say anything or reach out to touch her, just mirrored her position.

“This version of him was different, yeah?”

Ianto's voice was rougher than he expected. “Yeah, it was.”

“I always thought he'd tried to kill me with that paralysing lip gloss,” Gwen said, shaking her head. “Now that I think about it, he was just using me as a diversion, he was.”

He nodded.

“Radiation cluster bombs,” she scoffed then took a deep breath. “Owen. Tosh. It was easy to blame him and say he had a choice, but he really didn't, did he?” She shook her head and let one of her legs extend out. “What would've I done if it'd been me? If Grey'd had Rhys?”

Ianto shifted so his arm was pressed against Gwen's.

“I treated him like rubbish and he took his licks because he knew he deserved them,” she said, sadly. After resting the back of her head against the wall, she continued, “He didn't deny he was a scoundrel, but he tried to be better. He said she did that for him – made him want to be better, that he was his best version of himself around her. He wanted to be the kind of person who deserved love... her love. He thought he'd never be good enough for her.” She wiped a tear before it could fall. “And she left him to die alone. No one should die alone.”

She was silent for a few minutes then whispered, “The worst was when he thought I was her. The things he said... He’d really changed. Some people go their whole lives without changing like that.” She put her head on his shoulder. “I don't know what to do with any of this.”

“Well Owen's dead and I'm not shagging you,” he said with a laugh.

Gwen lifted her head and let out a loud half sob, half laugh. She gave him a playful smack to his chest. She said with guilt and embarrassment, “Didn't think anyone knew about that.”

“You two weren't exactly subtle,” he said, with an eye roll.

“Must've upset Tosh something awful.” There was little guilt in her voice. It had been a long time ago.

Ianto shrugged. “A little, but she'd accepted it by then that Owen would never notice her. As unhappy as it made her, sometimes I think it was more comfortable for her that way. It was safer than getting her heart broken.” He sighed. “Feel any better?”

“No,” she replied. “It might be a while time before I do.”

He nodded and stood, holding out his hand to help her up. “I'm sorry, Gwen, but Jack needs us both back upstairs.”

She clasped his hand and he pulled her to her feet. She said, “We have to find Cassie.”

“Yes, but…” he said but hesitated. _Get it over with._ “Andy was due back over a half hour ago.”

“What!?” Gwen shouted. She ran out of the range before Ianto could stop her.

“And here we go again,” he said to himself and followed her.

He got back to the main Hub in time to see Gwen shoving his husband. “You shouldn't have let him! It was too dangerous!”

Jack grabbed her arm and shoved her back. She stumbled and nearly fell. “It was his choice. I'm not in the mood for your theatrics, Gwen.” He turned to Ianto. “No sign of him yet.”

“John ran those calculations by you. Twice,” Ianto said. He crossed over to Fish’s workstation. Again the UNIT soldier moved aside, giving him room after snapping to attention. Ianto wished they’d relax the protocol, it was grating his nerves.

Jack asked, “You were listening when John read me the numbers. Do you remember the values he rattled off?”

Ianto closed his eyes, recalling Hart's voice in his ear. He slowly recited the variables and their accompanying numbers and Jack jotted them down. He sat down and began to run through the maths. After going through the calculations a few more times, Jack concluded that there had been no error in them. Even though his manipulator wouldn't work, he tapped them into it. It returned the proper time coordinates. Andy should've appeared in the middle of the Hub about a half hour ago.

“What else could've gone wrong?” Ianto asked.

Jack rotated in his seat to face them, the pencil still in his hands. “Aside from a maths error, John could've entered the numbers into the manipulator wrong which would've given the calculation feature the incorrect starting place.”

“That's it then,” Gwen said, self-satisfied and smug.

Jack held up his own wrist strap. “Do you think something that sends you through time and space lets you make typos? It asks for verification before locking in the time coordinates. It would've given John the precise moment and location and requested confirmation of the information.”

“It isn't infallible, is it?” Ianto asked. “Could it have malfunctioned?”

Jack twisted in the chair to face them. “There is a one trillionth of a percent chance that the manipulator will malfunction.”

“And what do you mean by 'malfunction?'” Gwen asked, still maintaining the nasty tone.

She wasn't having a spectacular temper tantrum anymore, so Jack let the tone slide. “Dropped him somewhere or somewhen other than what it was programmed to do.” _Or killed him._ “I think that's what's happened.”

“Why?” Gwen asked.

Jack started counting off points on his hands. “The most likely explanation is that the calculations are incorrect. I've just run through them again and they're fine. I'd have one of you do it, but I'd have to teach you fifty-first century mathematics and temporal physics first. Who wants to volunteer?” He paused for a moment and continued, “The second likely explanation is that Cassie did something to her vortex manipulator so that no one else could use it. That would require affixing something to the outside of it or locking the device so that it couldn't be used without a password or before an appointed time. Because John was able to program the thing, that's not true either. If John did enter the numbers in wrong, the manipulator would've displayed the incorrect time coordinates for confirmation. It is possible he didn't notice the incorrect readout. Which leaves-”

“Andy as the one trillionth percent,” Ianto said. An idea hit him and he asked, “They can break, can't they? I mean, we know John's manipulator dropped him here originally in the wrong place. And he said he went back to get it fixed.”

“Yours is broken,” Gwen sneered.

“Mine is broken because The Doctor broke it,” Jack snapped. He sighed and said, “For this thing to break, and not alert the user to the malfunction is just as rare as it to drop you in the wrong place. These things are pretty much indestructible. They do need regular servicing, but that's something that's needed only a handful of times in its functional life. It's not a Ford Fiesta.” He sighed and stepped over to Fish's workstation, gently nudging Ianto out of the way. He started vigorously typing.

“What are you doing, Jack?” Ianto asked.

He silently dismissed the UNIT soldier, who moved to another workstation. In a low voice, he replied, “Programming the rift manipulator to look for the signature a vortex manipulator will leave when it uses the rift to open the vortex.”

“But program isn't designed for that,” Ianto protested. “We can't tell one spike from another unless we can identify her original entry spike to use as a comparison.”

“When I'm done, we won't need the original.” Jack continued to type.

“Jack,” Ianto hissed, tugging his sleeve. Jack was using futuristic knowledge to adjust their programs, something Ianto knew was dangerous at best.

“Fish invents these protocols around now. No one knows exactly when, so it doesn't matter if I'm a little early.” Ianto wasn’t sure whom Jack was trying to convince.

“Do you think Andy will figure out the manipulator and be able to find his way back?” Ianto asked.

Jack dropped his voice so Gwen, who was frantically typing at her own workstation, couldn't hear him. “If he was just dropped somewhere or somewhen else and not killed, then yes.”

“You didn’t say-”

“I didn’t want to inflame Gwen any more than she already is,” Jack said, nastily. “The chance of him being killed is roughly the same as ending up in the wrong place and time.”

He watched as Jack worked, fascinated, when he remembered one of Fish's side projects. He grabbed Jack's hand. “Jack, remember the last time the rift went mad? Before I became immortal, when I was in hospital with Gwen after the plant spores? Remember Fish said that all of you were missing rift spikes and that it'd be useful if we had a way of detecting objects that fell through that we missed?”

Jack nodded. “He invents a program to do that too, but not yet.”

“He already has,” Ianto said, pointing at the computer screen. “It's one of his side projects that he doesn't pay too much attention to and probably hasn't made its way into his regular report-”

“Not that I read them anyway,” Jack muttered.

Ianto continued over him, “-because he said he needs to work out the physics before he can continue. The whole bloody thing is on hold because, right now, he said the program makes the whole city light up.”

“We can use it to find Cassie,” Jack said. He reached into Fish's desk for his spare laptop where their technician kept most of his side projects. “Does he keep it on here?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Ianto said, opening the laptop and booting it. “Yes, he does. Shit.”

“What?”

“It uses text commands. I've no idea how to use it,” he said.

Jack looked over his shoulder. There was nothing but a black screen and a blinking cursor.

“I need Fish,” Jack said, shutting the laptop. “I'm going to University Hospital. I'll be back soon.”

 


	26. Chapter 26

Exhausted, Henry dragged a chair over to Fish’s bedside. Before sitting down, he pressed a gentle kiss to his husband’s forehead. He didn't just sit, he collapsed into the chair and slipped his hand into Fish’s. The days since Fish's abduction had been exhausting – physically and emotionally. Henry wanted to fall into bed with his arms around his husband and not get out for a week. The weariness permeated his entire body, and if it had substance, Henry was sure it would ooze out of his pores.

For the sake of controlling infection and closing of the wound, doctors had removed the outer edge of Fish's hand, making it appear continuous with his wrist. They’d started him on strong antibiotics. They were confident the infection would be easy to control now that its source was removed. The sores on Fish’s groin had a soothing salve applied to them and they were also tending to his dehydration. Physically, they predicted Fish would make a full recovery with the only permanent physical damage the loss of his finger and the outer part of the hand. Perhaps some of the sores would scar. Fish's emotional state was an entirely different story.

When Fish had woken after the surgery, he'd been distressed to the point of hysteria, ranting and raving that none of them were real. Worried he'd injure himself or others, the staff had sedated him. A psychiatrist had questioned Henry, at length, about how his husband had sustained his injuries. Henry had played off Fish's rantings as a poor reaction to anaesthesia. He wasn't as good at the creative PR as Ianto, and he'd been able to tell that the psychiatrist didn't believe him at all.

To Henry's relief, the delusional state did appear to be a reaction to the anaesthesia and medications. When Fish had woken from the forced sedative, he had a firm grasp on reality even if he was a bit jumpy and anxious but that was to be expected. He started at every noise, in particular, the door he insisted be left open. Henry’s presence seemed to give him a small measure of peace and Henry made every effort to not stray too far from Fish’s hospital bed. Wisely, Fish accepted sedatives and pain relieving medications as they were offered so he did little more than sleep on and off. Henry was not surprised but still dismayed that Fish’s sleep was frequently restless. Fish would moan, sob, or cry out, and then wake screaming from nightmares.

When he was awake, Fish didn't speak about his ordeal at all. He didn't ask about the team, or about work, and Henry didn't press the subjects. Earlier, as he'd coaxed Fish to eat some clear broth, he didn’t seem willing to speak at all. When he did speak, he only encouraged Henry to go home and rest, but Henry wouldn’t leave especially since his presence made Fish so much more at ease.

Even though Fish was safe, he had a long road of recovery ahead of him. Though Henry wouldn’t leave his side for a moment of it, he knew he needed to take care of his own health. Though he was immune to sickness, if he became exhausted, he would be no help at all to Fish and his husband needed him. At the moment, Fish was sleeping peacefully and Henry pondered if he would wake him by climbing into the bed with him. He was more concerned that he would startle Fish into a panic. Instead, he closed his eyes, trying to ease the burning.

The sound of a light knock on the door brought his head up. The staff always lightly knocked since Fish became distressed when people entered the room unannounced. He was surprised to see Jack standing in the doorway. None of the team had visited, but Henry had assumed because they had their hands full with Cassie. After glancing at his watch, he said, “Jack? What are you doing here? It is very late.”

The fifty-first century man looked weary and there was significant grief in his eyes.

“Jack? Is something the matter?”

“How is he?” Jack asked. His voice was rough.

For now, Henry accepted the change in subject. “They had to remove the outer portion of his hand in order to allow for enough skin and flesh to close the wound, and to make it more aesthetic. The doctors are confident they can control his infection. He was significantly dehydrated, but that has easily improved with fluids. I am far more concerned about his mental state. He is showing signs of severe post-traumatic stress.” He nodded at Fish's still form. “This is the first peaceful rest he has had. I believe they have increased his sedative dosage.”

At that moment, Fish jerked in his sleep, and inhaled sharply.

“I stand corrected.” Henry ran his hand over Fish's arm soothingly. “He is having nightmares, and jumps at every little sound. He practically hyperventilates when someone opens that door unannounced.”

“I'm sorry, Henry,” Jack said, softly. He crossed to the other side of the bed, and put a small laptop onto the rolling table. “I need to wake him up.”

“I beg your pardon?” Henry hissed. He rose to his feet, fighting the urge to shout at Jack for fear of disturbing Fish’s rest. “You shall do no such thing! He has been through enough!”

“He invented an experimental program that uses the rift manipulator and some of the alien technology that's fallen through the rift. He set it up to scan the city for rift energy, while simultaneously filtering out the energy from the rift itself. It locks onto the special type of electromagnetic radiation that occurs as rift energy dissipates.”

Henry didn't understand what Jack was saying in the slightest and he didn't care. “I hardly think that is an appropriate reason to disturb his recovery. You will leave. Now.”

Jack glanced at Fish's face, to ensure he was asleep before he continued. “John’s dead, Henry. Cassie's escaped.”

“What?”

“John's dead. Cassie killed him while making her escape. I need Fish to find her using this program. Because it's one of his unfinished side projects, no one else in the Hub knows how to use it, and it's our only shot of finding her.” Jack opened the laptop and turned it towards Fish.

The Duke was torn between finding his husband's assailant and Hart's murderer, and inflicting further trauma on Fish by forcing him to become involved in work and Cassie when it was the last thing he wanted to discuss. He was saved from the decision. Fish let out a sharp cry. His eyes flew open and his legs flailed. Instinctively, he reached up to his right for Henry.

“I'm here, love,” he said, softly. He encircled Fish in his arms, pulling him close. “It was just a dream. We're together. You're safe.”

It took several minutes for Fish's breathing to return to normal. When he sat back, he started adjusting the bed to sit up. He looked embarrassed. “Sorry about that, Jack.”

“You don't need to apologise, Fish. Ever. How's the hand?” he asked.

“Hurts like bloody hell.” He lifted the bandaged hand from the stack of pillows next to him. “They want me to keep it elevated but I have a panic attack every bloody time they try to hang it up from a pole. I haven't even looked at it yet.” He swallowed hard and said, “Thanks for rescuing me. For not giving up.”

Jack put his hand on Fish's arm. “I'd never give up on you, Fish. Ever.”

After a steadying breath, Fish nodded at the laptop. “What do you need me to do?”

“You don't have to if you don't feel up to it...” But Fish gave him an impatient expression and he continued, “Cassie managed to escape. I need you to use your experimental program and locate her by scanning for the decaying rift energy she’s giving off.”

“That program doesn't work that way, Jack,” Fish said, shaking his head. He tried very hard, and failed to hide his anger. He didn't vocalise it, but Jack could hear the bitterness and blame in his voice. “It's not a fucking GPS that will tell you where the nearest bloody Tesco is. It will pick up _any_ decaying rift energy. The whole bloody city practically lights up.”

Jack dug into his pocket and passed a piece of paper to his friend. Fish took it and squinted. “Is this what I fucking think it is?”

“It's the formula and the decay constant you've been trying to work out on your own,” Jack said. He gestured at the laptop. “And the accompanying factors needed to adjust for organic vs inorganic matter and Cassie's mass.”

Fish narrowed his eyes at him. The numbers that Jack was providing him with would allow him to narrow his results down significantly. “Where did you get these?”

“From you,” Jack said, flatly.

“How could you get them from me when I haven't figured them out yet?” Fish asked, hotly.

“Yet,” Jack said. “You haven't figured them out. Yet.”

Fish let out a scoff. He rolled his eyes in a very Ianto-like manner. “So you're just handing me information from my future?”

Despite the fact that Fish was in a fragile state, Jack chose his tone and words carefully. “There are extenuating circumstances here.”

Fish noted Jack's expression for the first time, seeing sorrow behind the careful veil of authority.

“What's happened?”

“Fish-”

“Just bloody tell me!”

Jack looked at Henry before he took a deep breath, almost as if he were asking permission to continue. Fish watched the tears well up in their eyes. Henry leaned, taking Fish into his arms protectively, bracing him for what Jack was about to say. “You're both bloody scaring me now!”

“John's dead. Cassie killed him when she escaped.”

Fish clenched his jaw, then said, stoically, “Pull that towards me, Henry.”

“Joe...”

“Just do it,” he said, his voice tight.

Reluctantly, Henry obeyed and helped prop Fish up so he could type. It took him longer than it should have because he was working one handed, but in a few minutes, he'd edited the program with the information Jack had given him. It took him another few minutes to interface the program with Google maps. “Her weight.”

“Seventy kilograms, give or take.”

Fish inputted the number and then let out a disgusted snort. He turned the laptop to Jack. “There she is.”

“Thank you, Fish.” Jack closed the laptop. He swept it up in his arms and then turned away in a swirl of grey wool.

“Do something for me when you find her, Jack?”

He stopped and turned back, waiting.

Fish said, darkly, “You let Evie take the gloves off.”

Jack looked at him as if he'd never seen him before. Fish didn't notice. He was too busy tugging Henry into the bed with him.

“I'll kindly ask you to leave, Captain,” Henry said, a chill in his voice.

Without another word, Jack walked out of the room and Henry was glad to see the back of him. He wrapped his arms around Fish and drew him in close. He put a pillow on his side so Fish could rest his injured hand on it.

“Shh, it's all right, love.” Henry tried to soothe him, nuzzling Fish's head with his cheek. “Hush. You're safe.”

In a low, quiet voice that wasn't steady, Fish said, “I thought about you all the time. The only thing I wanted was to get back to you.”

“Hush, love,” Henry said, squeezing him tightly. “You don’t need to talk about it yet.”

“I would’ve given anything to hear your voice again. Hear you tell me you love me,” he begged, his voice cracking a little.

Henry hooked his finger under Fish's chin, lifting his head so he could stare into his eyes. “I love you, Joe. Now and always.”

Fish closed his eyes and the tears ran down his cheeks.

“I love you. I love you so very much.” He repeated those words, softly, over and over again.

Without opening his eyes, Fish let himself lean forward, slowly, knowing Henry would meet him halfway. It wasn’t the first kiss they’d shared since their reunion, but it was the first one that wasn’t tainted with desperation. This kiss was soft and full and unhurried. The relief and love overwhelmed them both and soon Fish’s cheeks weren’t the only ones damp with tears. Just the feel and warmth of Henry's body against his brought him immense comfort.

“I never thought I'd see you again,” Fish said with a sob.

“Hush,” Henry said, trying to chase the words away. He could feel the emotional anguish through the arms he had around his lover. He tried to soak up the hurt and pain, to take them into himself with a comforting embrace.

“I did a lot of thinking when I was alone on that ship. And I’ve been doing a lot of thinking today.” He swallowed hard and the tremble in his voice deepened. “She was drugging me, stinging me with some sort of hallucinogenic venom. I... saw things.”

Henry's arms tightened around him.

“Sometimes I'd relive the past.” He lowered his voice. “Like the day my Dad died. Then the day my Mum died.”

Henry gently began rocking Fish back and forth. He stroked his fingertips over Fish's hair and face.

“It wasn't all bad,” Fish said, his voice strengthening and steadying. Henry felt Fish's cheek warm under his fingers as his husband blushed. “I got to relive all of our high points.”

Fish pulled back from Henry's embrace. “Some of it was real, and some of it wasn’t. It was just dreams my mind invented, I guess.” He dropped his eyes. “Sometimes, the fantasies were wonderful, I didn't want to leave them.”

“Your mind attempted to make the best of a horrid situation.”

“I tried to stay strong,” he said, shaking his head. “But sometimes what my mind dreamt up was better. I think the fantasies helped,” he said, calmly. They stayed silent for a few minutes then Fish said, “I'm sorry, Henry. But even after everything... I can't leave Torchwood-”

“You mustn't be hasty, Joe.”

“-but I can't stay either,” Fish finished over him.

“We’ll sort this together,” he said. He tightened his arms and kissed the top of Fish’s head. “Nothing need be decided now. We have time to discuss things when you're more recovered.”

“There is something that we don't need to discuss.”

“Don’t?” Henry asked, thinking his husband had misspoken.

Fish tilted his head back to gaze into Henry’s eyes. “I'm going to ask Jack for an extended leave of absence. Six months at least. Possibly closer to a year.”

Though Henry tried to hide it, Fish could tell he was pleased. He captured Fish’s lips in a gentle kiss. When they broke apart, Fish cleared his throat, a little nervous. “There was something else I hoped we could discuss.”

“What’s that, Joe?” he asked, sitting back a bit.

“I want you to promise me something first.”

“All right…”

“I want you to promise me that if this isn’t something you want, that you’ll tell me. I need for us to be able to discuss this honestly. I don’t want you to agree just because you don’t want to say no to me.”

“I-”

“I’m serious, Henry. You think you hide it well, but a lot of the time you do things just to keep the peace or give in to make me happy. We don't have a lot of time together and you don't want us to quarrel, I get it. You spoil me and that’s sweet, but just not with this. Okay?”

Henry didn't deny Fish's assessment. “I promise, love.”

Fish took a deep breath. He licked his lips, nervous. He couldn’t believe he was suggesting this and he had no idea how Henry would react. “I never thought about us in terms of where we were going or what sort of life I wanted to have with you because of Torchwood. I was always headed to the same place and I was okay with that. I just wanted to have every moment we could. I never wanted more, because what was the point? I didn't realise I was doing it until now and I'm sorry for that.”

“You don't have to-”

“Let me finish.” He stopped Henry’s words with a small kiss. “The thing is... I want more. And I’m sorry I never talked about it with you first. You’ve always let me lead because my days are the numbered ones. And I’ve always taken that for granted.”

“I told you that I will follow you anywhere, Joe,” Henry said. “Whether it is figurative or not.”

“I know.” Fish shifted in a way that was almost a fidget. “One hallucination really shook me up and I haven't been able to get it out of my mind since.”

“What happened, love?” Henry asked, deeply concerned.

“We were together... and we were a family. You and me... and our son...” Fish's voice cracked on the last word. He swallowed back the tears. “I know it’s impossible but he was ours. He had your green eyes and my wavy hair. His name was Gabriel.” He stopped, pulling back the tears. The boy had been so beautiful. He took a deep breath trying to remind himself that Gabriel had not been real, but he still felt the loss. The hallucination had been one of the happiest experiences of Fish's life. “I never wanted to be a father. I always told myself it was because I liked doing what I liked to do when I liked to do it, that I was too selfish for it. I just wasn't the paternal sort. I didn't want to add to an overpopulated world. I told myself a lot of reasons.” He shook his head and added, under his breath, “Bunch of bollocks.”

He cleared his throat. “Truth is, I’m scared, Henry. I’m afraid of failing because being responsible for someone so completely is just too much for me. My parents were my world and when they died, my world ended. It shattered who I was and how I looked at everything. I couldn’t imagine meaning that much to someone else. But now…”

“Now you are reconsidering,” Henry said.

Fish nodded and a deeply pensive look came over Henry's face. Was it something he could do? Could he raise a child with this man and then watch that child grow, wither and die? His son Tom was an adult, nearing his forties. The thought of Tom’s inevitable death clenched a fist on his heart that made it hard for him to breathe. But this was something his love wanted, he could see it in his eyes. Fish didn’t miss the pain flickering in Henry’s eyes.

“You promised, Henry.”

The pensive look returned to his face and he remained silent for a while. When he spoke, he did so very slowly and deliberately. “I am... apprehensive.”

Fish squeezed him hard. “It’s all right. It's just an idea. I'm not even sure it's something I want. It's something I've certainly never considered before. I’m just throwing it out there for now.”

Henry nodded. He closed his eyes and settled against his husband. Images swirled in his mind. Fish bent over a swaddled infant, a bottle in his hand. Dancing with a little girl standing on his feet. Blowing out candles on a cake with a young boy. How could he deny his husband the full spectrum of human experience? The years he's had with Tom were the best of his life. Now he understood why Fish had exacted the promise from him. Fish understood Henry’s desire to shield his heart from inevitable pain and loss. But Henry had come a long way. In those images, there was no pain. He saw only joy in watching Fish nurture and love. He saw a lineage that he could cherish and protect when Fish was…

“I am not saying no,” Henry promised, “but we have much to discuss.”

“Yeah, we do.” Then Fish suggested, “How about we visit Anna for a couple months or maybe a year, and talk about it all?”

Henry smiled and said, “That sounds perfect.”

 


	27. Chapter 27

Every Time Agent was thoroughly educated on the rules and regulations of how they should conduct themselves when they were in the past. Most Time Agents saw them as guidelines rather than firm rules, but how flexible people were was very dependent upon the individual. Jack sometimes bent the rules, but he knew which ones it was okay to bed and which ones had to stand like granite. Since he and Hart had been assigned the Industrial Revolution through First Contact, the political and social upheaval meant a lack of historical records. It was easier to cock something up by accident, when you didn't know what had exactly taken place. Time Agents are actively encouraged to consider suicide rather than live out their lives if trapped in the past, for the sake of timeline preservation and their own sanity. That wasn't exactly an option for Jack, but he did vow to preserve the timeline and a big part of that was Joseph Fischer.

History always paints great figures with a certain measure of prejudice. Just because the man died saving humanity didn't necessarily mean Fish was a good person. He could have just been in the right place at the right time. Fish could've been a colossal wank-stain for all Jack knew. But he wasn't, and things would've been so much easier for Jack if Fish had been a wank-stain. Not only had how genuinely good Joseph Fischer was catch him off guard, but so had Fish's overwhelmingly honest friendship.

So Jack became torn between leading Fish to his destiny and finding a way to save him. Both goals fell under the blanket of protecting him. Either he protected him so he could fulfil his destiny, or he protected him so he didn't have to die. It had become almost an obsession. The closer it got to when everything changed, the worse it got. Jack's options were narrowing, not expanding. The more he tried to steer Fish's death and humanity's salvation away from each other, the closer they seemed to get. As that gigantic fucking rock and that stubborn arse fucking hard place squeezed Jack in tighter and tighter, he started to panic and crossed lines, trying to open up more avenues and opportunities to save Fish's life while still preserving humanity. As more and more doors closed, he felt the loss of Fish's life become more inevitable, and he became less able to accept the loss of life in other areas.

In the past, Jack would've declared Andy Davidson lost, and left it at that. He would've told himself that there was nothing he could do within the temporal limitations of the twenty-first century and that would have been it. Because, in all likelihood, Andy was dead. The statistics he'd quoted to Ianto and Gwen were correct. There was a one trillionth of a percent possibility that the manipulator had put Andy in the wrong place and time, but there was also a one trillionth of a percent possibility that the manipulator had flat out killed him. Why then did Jack think that Andy was dead, when the chance of the manipulator killing him was so low? Because if the manipulator had simply dumped Andy into the wrong place and time, there were an infinite number of places and times for it to choose from, and a very, very finite number of those could sustain human life. An even more finite number of those would contain friendly, sentient life capable of assisting Andy in returning home. It was far more likely that Andy had ended up in the vastness of empty space. Even though the chance Andy was alive was so low that it might as well be nil, Jack edited the programs with fifty-first century information to scan for him. That wasn't just walking a line, it was crossing it. The same way he'd crossed a line when he'd given Fish the formulas for his rift energy decay detector program.

When he got back into the SUV, he pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers as he settled behind the driver's seat. He needed to take a step back before he ended up inadvertently changing history. Or was he making history?

 _Who really composed Beethoven’s fifth?_ Jack thought with a shake of his head.

With a throat clear, he thrust aside the causality issues. He had to focus on the now and right now, he needed to confront Cassie. Before he could do that, he needed Hart's body. With a sigh, he drove back to the Hub, bracing himself. Just because Jack didn’t believe in any sort of afterlife, it didn’t mean that he didn’t believed in treating the memories of those who’d died with respect. The idea of sending Hart’s body back to his father made him physically sick. It was the absolute last thing Hart would’ve wanted. He also didn't look forward to explaining his plan to Miranda.

Ianto was just walking out of the autopsy bay, and looked to be drying his hands on some paper towels. After dropping them in the nearest bin, he met Jack in the middle of the Hub.

“Did you perform the autopsy?” Jack asked.

Ianto shook his head. “Not yet. I was tidying up the trolley.”

“Where's Will?” Jack asked.

“Sitting down in cold storage with him.”

Jack stepped past his husband for the stairs. Ianto touched his arm to stop him. “I haven't seen her like this in a long time. Not since that hallucinogenic plant when she first arrived.”

Jack nodded in acknowledgement. Lifting his chin, he strode towards the morgue stairway. When he reached the bottom, he turned left towards the walk-in cold storage. The door was cracked open. The metal door handle was cold against his fingers and he suppressed a shudder as the wave of icy air came in contact with his body. It chilled a clamminess on his skin that he hadn't fully realised was there.

The rift storm hadn't been kind, and the room was nearly full. All the shelves were occupied with alien creatures or riftugees that hadn't survive their journey, and even Cardiff residents who'd become unfortunate casualties. Ianto had placed John Hart's body in one of the only remaining spaces – the floor beneath the bottom row of shelves. Miranda was sitting beside him, directly on the floor, apparently unperturbed by the frigid tile. The bag was opened and she was gently stroking Hart's cold cheek, occasionally twirling one of his curls around one of her fingers.

“Hello, Jack,” she said, softly, without looking up.

“Will.”

She brushed Hart's hair back one last time, and then folded the flap of the bag over his face. After zipping it closed, she stood. “Thank you for your indulgence, I'll be upstairs shortly.”

“That's not why I'm here,” Jack said. He leaned against the doorway, but immediately stood back up after the cold penetrated his shirt. With caution, he said, “I need John's body.”

She frowned and opened her mouth to ask why, but then closed her eyes and mouth, realising. She let out a sad sigh. “You want Cassie to succeed in her mission.”

“It'll get John's father off our backs for good,” Jack said, apologetic.

She nodded, turning her head so her gaze fell on the body bag. “I don't think he'd have no objection.”

“Do you?” he asked, cautiously. _This is going easier than I thought it would..._

For a second, she looked surprised that he'd even asked. She shook her head. “No.”

The two of them were silent for a few moments. Jack shivered and beckoned Miranda out of the cold storage room. He shut the door behind them and turned to his old friend, asking, “Do you want to talk about it?”

She gave him a one shouldered shrug. It was dismissive. “There's nothing to talk about Jack.”

“I don't think that's true, Will.”

She whirled away from him, stomping towards the stairway but Jack rushed forward, grabbing her arm. His voice was tired, “Hey! Stop the dramatics, okay?”

After yanking out of his grip, she gave him a stern look.

Losing his temper, he challenged, “Fine, you wanna act like a brat? It was a rotten thing you did.”

“Thank you for that assessment.”

He resisted the urge to slap her. “You see, Will? That is what I'm talking about. You think the problem's losing people, but it isn't. It’s you pushing people away. You're sick of getting hurt so you keep trying to be some kind of island. You’ve forgotten that that’s exactly what gets you hurt in the first place. You’re forgetting what it’s like to care about people and to let them care about you, and how important that is. Loss and grief aren't what get us. It's trying to avoid those things until you're so deep in that dark place inside that you feel nothing. And that’s how we really die.”

She wanted to make some sharp tongued remark, but Jack was right. How close to the mark he was scared her because he was so much younger than her.

“You warned me, and Henry, and Ianto, but you never take your own advice, do you? I saw that wall of yours crumble the minute you got here. You used to go shopping with Gwen, have movie nights with Ianto, and let Fish drag you with them for the pub quiz night even though he said he hated them. Then, Nora broke your heart and you pulled back. All you started to see was how every one of them could hurt you. You've built your wall up over thousands of years, and it won't come down overnight, but you've got to start working on it again because you cannot keep doing this, Will, because you’re dying.” He grabbed her arms and shook her a little. “You're dying.”

He stepped back and shook his head, disappointed. He pointed his thumb back over his shoulder. “And that is the last thing, he'd want for you.”

“I was so focused on getting my hands around Cassie’s neck that I ignored the arterial spurt. I knew he was bleeding to death and I knew there was nothing I could do. It was Gabe, all over again... So I left him there.” By the time she'd finished, her voice and body were shaking.

“I left him.” Tears practically vibrating out of her eyes. “I'm already dead inside, Jack.”

He reached out and put his hands on her upper arms, squeezing with reassurance. “No, you're not. This is eating you up, Will. You and I both know it wouldn't otherwise.” He paused and let out a small sigh. “I've known you a lot of years. You may think exacting revenge is the solution, because it shows how much you care but it doesn’t. It’s selfish, because it’s all about how you feel. And this? This self-pity's selfish too. Stop feeling sorry for yourself! You can't change it. You can't go back and fix it. Do you know what you do? You move forward. You say this stops here and now because when he comes back – and he is coming back – you know exactly how much time you're gonna have with him. You make every second count, because that's what he's gonna do.”

He paused, waiting for her trembling to subside. “John? He never gave or accepted love easily. His father made him feel worthless so he never thought he had any value. You changed that for him and that was something I could never do no matter how hard I tried.”

Miranda stood there, digesting his words for a minute as the tears ran down her cheeks. Her eyes lost focus as she began to slowly recite, “‘He was my North, my South, my East and West, my working week and my Sunday rest, my noon, my midnight my talk my song; I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.” She drew in a shaky breath and continued, “‘The stars are not wanted now: put out every one; pack up the moon and dismantle the sun; pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood. For nothing now can ever come to any good.’”

“He's coming back to you.” Jack reached for her, pulling her in close. The two of the grieved silently for a few moments. When Jack felt her pull back, he reached up with his thumb, swiping the tears away. He stepped back, all business again. “Fish's program narrowed down Cassie's location. I'm going to meet her.” As she started to open her mouth, Jack put his hand up to silence her and said, firmly, “Alone.”

She nodded. She didn’t trust herself not to rip Cassie to pieces with her bare hands. He continued, “You want some more time with him?”

She shook her head.

“You sure about that?”

After nodding, she requested, “If you could do me a favour and remove his jacket, gun and sword? And if Ifan wouldn't mind having them cleaned, repaired, and placed into storage for me?”

“I'll see to it.”

After taking a deep breath, she looked as if she were debating something. With a slight frown on her face, she said, “There's something else I feel you should know, Jack.”

“All right.”

“When I left after Cameron, I went to New York. John visited me there. It was yet another version of him – not ours and not the one that's… He told me when he would be returning. December the first.”

“That's in just over a month,” Jack noted.

“I don't want to stay in the bunker anymore. With your permission, I'd like to take the next week or two to make new living arrangements and to take some time with this.” She waved towards the cold storage.

“Take all the time you need, Will,” Jack said.

She took a deep, shaky breath. “He's dead, but I know he’ll be here soon, alive and whole.” She furrowed her brow, concentrating. “What do I do then? How do I act around him when I know about… this?” She gestured at the cold storage unit again. “He’ll be here, but he'll also be gone.”

“Don’t think about it,” he said, striding forward. He took her in his arms. “You can’t. Forget what's happened. Concentrate on him - the living him.”

She turned her head, pushing her face into his chest. “I don’t know if I can do that.” She shivered. “What do I do when his manipulator starts failing? When he tells me he wants to get it fixed? How can I let him go when I know this will happen?”

“You will, because everything that happens to you between now and then is dependent on him coming back. On him dying. You'll do the right thing,” he said with more confidence than he felt.

All Miranda could do was nod. She pulled back out of the embrace, turned towards the stairs and walked away. He wished there was more he could do for her. He also wished he had time to deal with his own feelings. They were bubbling just under the surface, barely under control, but he needed to hold it together for just a little while longer. This would all be over soon.

With his jaw clenched, he walked back to the cold storage unit. He opened the door, pushing the trolley inside and locking the wheels. With a grunt, he heaved the body bag onto it and felt something in his back twinge.

He opened the bag slowly, folding aside the thick plastic. With tears in his eyes and a lump in his throat, he started removing Hart's red jacket, gun belt and sword. The jacket’s removal wasn't easy with the rigor mortis, but he managed it. He wondered if he should have Ianto wash and re-dress the body before he left, but decided against it. It would be less suspicious if Cassie returned Hart to his father in this state. Once he was done, he moved to close the bag but stopped. He stood back, regarding his friend one last time.

“I know you’re dead and you can’t hear me but… this whole me-not-being-able-to-die thing notwithstanding, I always thought you'd go first, the trouble you got up to and caused. I get that you wanted to die sometimes.” He sniffled and wiped his nose. He didn't try to stop the tears as they fell. “That whole time loop was the first time you were really happy. No drugs. No cheap thrills. Just us – happy. I thought we could keep it going that way, but I was wrong. It wasn't who we were, wasn't the way things were for us. Your father had you in his grip and I had to find Gray. I knew you were awake, you know. I always knew and I forgive you.” He let out a sob and set his gaze upwards. “I forgive you. For everything.”

After turning his gaze down to Hart’s face, he put his hand in the middle of his cold, still chest. “I love you and I'm gonna miss you.” He gripped Hart's stiffened arm. “This is the only way. I can only hope that if you were here, you’d forgive me too. You escaped him and I'm sending you right back. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

Finally, he zipped the body bag shut. With reverence, he draped the items that were so characteristically John Hart on top of the plastic. He pushed the trolley into the lift, but took the stairs up himself. As he pulled the trolley out of the lift, Ianto appeared behind him.

“Let me help you, Jack,” Ianto said, sternly.

Jack accepted his husband's help, rolling the trolley through the main Hub and into the garage. They carefully slid the body bag into the SUV. Jack handed Hart's personal items to Ianto. “Can you clean these up for Will and put it into storage for her? A time locked drawer or something.”

Ianto took the Napoleonic jacket into his hands with infinite care along with the gun belt and sword. After a few moments of examining the small hole, he nodded slowly. “I’ll see to this repair as well.”

The sound of heeled boots echoed down into the garage. Jack couldn’t manage to suppress a groan.

Ianto held up his hand. “I'll deal with her, sir.”

“No, I'll do it. I should be the one doing it,” Jack said, resigned.

“Jack!” Gwen snapped out. “Jack!”

Her voice echoed down from the hallway and Ianto rolled his eyes.

“Jack, where do you think you're going with Vera’s body?” Gwen shrieked out as she entered the garage. “You should leave him to his rest!”

He was so tired of explaining himself to Gwen when she got like this. He let out a sigh. “John's father put a hit out on him, that's why Cassie was here. The only way to get him to stop for good is to let her succeed.”

Gwen's face and voice held nothing but outrage and horror. “I don't believe this, Jack! You're going to just let her go! Look what she did to Fish! She killed Vera!” Gwen screeched. “You're just going to let her get away with all this!”

Jack barked, “I'm not going to bother explaining the fifty-first century justice system or its politics to you, Gwen. Suffice it to say, there is no way Cassie is going to get away scot free. She's already exiled from her home world. Likely, when she gets back home, she’ll be executed.”

“You don't know that for sure!”

“John's father sliced off his own daughter’s fingers. He had his pregnant daughter-in-law killed and put a hit out on John and his sister. Do you think this is a man who's going to stop just because one of his bounty hunters failed? John is dead, Gwen. I'm not risking the team for sentimentality.”

Gwen opened her mouth to raise some other objection but Ianto interrupted her. “Enough, Gwen. The decision's been made. Jack is right.”

The two men could see her smouldering, but she whirled away and said, “I’m going to keep looking for Andy.”

Jack wasn’t eager for another confrontation, but he said, anyway, “You’ll do no such thing, Gwen. You’re going home to Rhys for a couple days. I don’t want to see you back until Monday.”

“Excuse me?” she said, rounding on Jack again.

“The sensors are scanning for Andy. There’s nothing else we can do,” he said, flatly.

“We have to keep looking! We can’t just abandon him!” she barked.

He shook his head. “You listen up, Gwen, because this is the last time I’m going to say this. There is nothing more we can do to locate Andy. Go home to Rhys. Give him my love and I will see you Monday.”

“I can’t believe you’re just giving up on him!” Gwen snapped. “How can you-”

Jack leaned into her face, aggressively, and she leaned away from him. He was done. He pointed his finger right at her face. “You know what? I’m done sugar coating this for you. The fact of the matter is that Andy is dead and I’ll tell you why. Even if the manipulator didn’t outright kill him, it could have dropped him anywhere in all of time and space. Do you understand the meaning of the word ‘an-y-where?’ Remember that one trillionth of a percent? Well the chance that he landed somewhere habitable is probably smaller than that, but I’m devoting scanner resources to it anyway. But that’s all I’m willing to do. Go home to Rhys.”

Gwen took a step back from the reality check that Jack had just hurled into her face. She swallowed, hard, nodded once, and then turned and went back into the main Hub. When she returned, she gave Jack and Ianto a sideways glance. She paused for a brief moment, watching.

Jack climbed into the driver’s seat. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and let out a deep sigh. Ianto put his arm through the open window and gripped his shoulder, kneading the knots for a second. Jack let his hand drop, and let out another sigh as he stared at the SUV’s ceiling. Then, he abruptly opened the laptop next to him. Cassie was still in the same place. Ianto slid his hand down his arm, squeezing gently. “Be careful, Cariad.”

“I will, Yan,” he replied. He put his hand out, cupping Ianto's face. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Ianto stepped away as Jack pulled out of the garage. He stood there until he couldn’t hear the engine any longer.

“I can't believe you're letting him do this,” Gwen said. There was less anger in her voice, but it still dripped with disappointment.

“Gwen, Christ, enough. I agree with Jack's decision. There's nothing we can do, short of travelling to the fifty-first century, to stop John's father from sending more hit men, bounty hunters and rogue Time Agents to our doorstep. This time Fish lost a finger. What could happen next time? You're so angry at Mandy for chasing down Cassie and leaving John behind, but it happened because she let her emotions run away with her. That's what you're doing now. You're letting your emotions get the better of you. So who's the pot and who's the kettle?”

“We need to be better than this,” Gwen said, quietly.

“We do need compassion and humanity. But not this time.” He looked at her carefully, up and down as she chewed her bottom lip. “And you need to apologise to Miranda.”

Even though it didn't look like she was going to answer, he didn't give her a chance to do so. “I'm disappointed in her too, but she doesn't need us pouring salt in her wounds. Her and Jack have some sort of unwritten competition for who's got the biggest Atlas complex. You might not realise it, but their penchant for self-deprecation is part of the problem and stoking that fire doesn't help.”

He drew himself up, buttoned his suit jacket and said, “Go home, Cooper. That’s an order.”

He whirled away, striding down the hallway back to the main Hub as she got into her car and went home to Rhys.

 

* * *

 

Jack drove the SUV through the dark Cardiff streets without any of what Fish called his 'crazy taxi' manoeuvring. He took the drive slowly, using the time to regroup and think. Mostly he mentally tongued at the empty space where his memories used to be. What felt like a long, long time ago, he'd woken in a cheap hotel room not knowing how he'd even gotten there or if he'd had a good time. Sometimes after a bit of celebrating, that wasn't unheard of. Overindulgence had been his stock in trade back then, but he could usually remember something – a bad joke, a sordid tale, a smile, a warm body. This time there was nothing but going to sleep one night and waking up the next in a completely different place.

To his surprise, he'd learned the black hole in his memory hadn't swallowed a single night, but two years. So he'd dug and investigated and found that the memories hadn't just been blocked, they'd been completely erased. The technology that had done it had been clean and precise, but most of all it had been very, very professional. It reeked of the Time Agency and small, discrete inquiries had proven him right. So he left the Agency and returned to running cons, hoping he’d find a way to get his memory back.

Now, a large piece of the puzzle was in front of him. It might not be why, but it was a bit of what. Cassie could fill in some of those pieces, but would he believe her? Could he? Faced with the idea of finding out some of what had happened, he found himself apprehensive.

For the first time, he was beginning to wonder if he was meant to know. The moment he'd woken up without his memory had been the biggest turning point in his life. If he hadn't lost his memories, he wouldn't have left the Time Agency. He wouldn't have tried to sell a Chula ship to Flag Girl and U-Boat Captain, wouldn't have ended up on the Game Station, wouldn't have become immortal or ended up at Torchwood.

_With Ianto._

He let warmth fill his chest at the thought of his lover.

_Finding out what happened won’t undo any of that._

When he finally arrived at the Landsea Gardens, he parked the SUV and slammed the laptop closed. He checked his Webley, ensuring it was loaded. He kept it in hand, but lowered. It was evening, and there was no one else in sight. Still, he looked around before shouting, “Cassie! C'mon out. I'm alone.”

To his surprise, she obeyed, appearing from around the corner by the cafe. Her arms were still bound behind her back and her tail was still encased in the restraint device. “Hello, Jax. I don't suppose you're here to let me out of these, give me Wixson's body and let me be on my way, are you?”

A wave of frustration and disappointment washed over him. He paused for a minute before answering so he could get those feelings under control. He deadpanned, “Actually, that's exactly what I'm here to do.”

“Excuse me?” she asked, incredulous.

Jack hit the key fob in his pocket for the SUV. The boot popped open and Cassie gazed over his shoulder to see the body bag. He dug in his pocket and held up the time travel device. Then he did the same with a small key. “Single use time travel device and the key to your cuffs.”

Cassie regarded him with suspicion, waiting for the others to descend upon her. “How thick, dense, naïve, gullible do you think I am, Jax?”

Jack tossed the key over to her. “A show of good faith.”

She looked up at the building rooftops and even out to the water, expectantly.

“It's not a trap,” he said, impatient. “I'm not helping you. I'm helping us. Once you're back in the fifty-first and the Fifth Minister knows his son is dead, I won't be hearing from him anymore.”

She narrowed her eyes at him as she bent for the key. “What are you playing at?”

“Doctor Fischer was nearly collateral damage in the Wixson family crossfire. I can't let that happen again.”

As she dropped the restraints to the ground, she said, defiantly, “I was never going to hurt him.”

“It was a stupid risk, Cas, and the next person Wixson sends after John might be even less temporally conscious.”

“He was never in any real danger,” she said, dismissive.

Jack finally lost his temper. His voice rose loudly, “You don't get it, do you, Cas? Medicine's a joke in this century! This is before adaptive antibiotics or genetically modified immunities, but there are still superbugs and resistant strains. These humans aren't like the ones in our time. There's no hybrid vigour from interbreeding with alien species. These are _pure_ humans. They're fragile!” He lowered his voice. “If they can't get his infection under control? Best case scenario? He'll lose a hand or an arm. Worst case scenario? He dies. And what then? If the Zabaydians wipe humanity out because Fischer's not here to save us, what then? What happens when your planet's third moon explodes and there's no Great and Bountiful Human Empire to ride in to the rescue?”

Cassie's eyes went wide at that.

“See? That's what I'm talking about.” He held up his index finger at her. “One man whose sacrifice makes wave after wave, probably all the way to the end of humanity and you grabbed him just to get our attention? You’re a Time Agent, Cas. You should’ve known better.”

“What was I supposed to do, Jack? Would you have paid attention if I'd grabbed some random person?” she snapped. “Summary execution. That's what awaits me back home without Wixson.”

“You could've asked for our help.”

“How could you have helped me?” she sneered.

“I don't know, but we never will know now, will we?” he replied, honestly. “We could have at least tried. Instead, you endangered the time stream and killed a man - killed someone I love.”

“You're still letting me go.”

Jack rolled his eyes at the smugness. “You keep thinking that, Cas, because if you think the Fifth Minister's gonna hold up his end of your little bargain, you're delusional.”

“I won't give him any choice.”

He scoffed at the over confidence. It was a common Time Agent trait. “Do you think a ruthless psychopath like Joaquin Wixson accepts the choices people give him? He takes what he wants. We're talking about a man who cut off his own daughter's fingers. So you go on, keep thinking this is a situation you can control.”

“It _is_ under control,” she insisted.

“Yeah, whatever, Cas,” he said, rolling his eyes again. He wondered if she even believed that anymore. He turned away and started to walk back to the SUV.

Carefully, he lowered the body bag onto the pavement. Crouched down, he rested his hand on the bag, feeling the features of Hart's face beneath the thick plastic. I'm sorry, old friend.

At the sound of footsteps, Jack whipped the gun out, pointing it in Cassie's direction without taking his eyes off the body bag. “Don't come any closer.”

“Can you help me?” she asked, timidly.

He shook his head. “It's too late for that, now.”

“You said you could find a way,” she asked. It nearly sounded like begging.

“I said I could've tried to find a way. _Past_ tense,” he said, standing. “You've boxed me in. This is the only way now.”

Defiant, she tilted her chin up. “Help me and I'll tell you everything about those two years I remember.”

It was a tempting bribe. He closed his eyes. The hole in his mind was like an aching tooth, his tongue constantly drawn to it and every once in a while if he bit into the wrong thing, in the wrong way, it reminded him it was there with a stab of pain.

“I've gone this long without knowing,” he said, hoping his voice sounded stronger than he felt.

“You want to know, Jax. I know you do. This sort of thing would eat at a man like you,” she said, scratching at the foothold she saw.

He paused for the briefest of moments. “Good luck, Cas,” he said, honestly.

She gave him a look of concern. “This can carry two. You could come with me.”

A memory filled Jack's mind, suddenly and inexplicably. The gentle voice echoed in his brain, _I really don't mind, though. Come with me._

Jack shook his head. _Like you said, Doctor. Responsibility._ He said, firmly, “My place is here.”

Cassie looked disappointed, but nodded. “I'll fetch another one of these and be back in a minute. Tit for tat. One hand washes the other. I scratch your back, you scratch mine. Quid pro quo. Give me the time coordinates.”

Jack opened his manipulator and rattled off the numbers to her.

She winked. “You won't even know I was gone.”

Without another word, she knelt down and looped her hand through the body bag's handle. She hit the button on the device with a quick wink. After a loud snapping sound, a flash of light engulfed her. She was gone, and Hart's body with her.

Even though he knew the minute she activated the device she was dead, Jack stood there for nearly a full hour, waiting. After letting out a deep sigh, he looked up at the stars and wished, _I hope it was quick and painless for you_ , even though he knew it probably had been neither.

When he got back into the SUV, sinking into the seat. His body felt heavy with the weight in his heart. He dialled his husband's mobile. “Hi, Yan... Yeah, it's done... No, she didn't give me any trouble... Hey, Yan? Has the UNIT team left yet?... Good, can you ask them if they don't mind staying till the end of the week?... Great, thanks. I need some time... Uhuh... Yes, a bath for two sounds perfect... Yeah... yeah... No, I'm not okay... I'm on my way now. Shouldn't be more than twenty minutes... I love you too...”

 


	28. Chapter 28

The next month that followed was spent trying to get back to normal, or at least what qualified as normal for Torchwood. It took a while for them to sift through the backlog. The UNIT soldiers had been monitoring the rift, but they weren't supposed to do anything more than the basics. They contained, collected and controlled, and then left the rest for Torchwood. So once things died down, the team stepped in to investigate, interview and tweak the creative PR, where necessary. There was a lot of work to be done, but all hands weren't on deck. Though Hart was dead, the loss most keenly felt was Fish's. He’d asked to return after he’d gotten out of hospital, but Jack had insisted he take some time at home first. So, the team had no technician.

Jack, Miranda, Ianto and Gwen were up to their ears in work. Miranda had resumed her duties as medic so that Ianto could focus on the technology since Gwen was shite at both the medical and technical. Instead, the former PC went into full investigative mode with Jack. In between helping Ianto with the tech, Jack worked with Gwen, checking on all the rift alerts the UNIT soldiers had seen to, ensuring they’d missed nothing. It was tedious.

Though they were all overworked, it hadn’t escaped Ianto, or Jack, that Gwen was taking every opportunity to be as cruel as possible to Miranda. Just a few days ago, a space probe had crashed near the Welsh-English border. They’d all gone to retrieve it. Jack had asked Miranda to search the surrounding area while he, Ianto and Gwen had seen to loading the thing onto the UNIT truck. When Miranda had passed within earshot, Gwen had made some passive aggressive comment about her ‘abandoning’ them to do all the heavy lifting. Ianto and Jack had shot her a nasty look, and that had been the last of it for that trip. It hadn’t been the first time they’d heard a nasty remark slip out of Gwen’s mouth intended for Miranda’s ears.

They’d also noticed the former PC was taking some of the more minor and annoying tasks from her job and heaping them onto Miranda’s already overflowing plate. Ianto had caught Miranda doing Gwen’s filing and scrubbing out the SUV’s boot one late evening. Jack had caught Miranda doing Gwen’s cleaning duty as well. Ianto realised Miranda, in her quest to beat Jack in the world’s largest Atlas complex competition, felt she deserved Gwen’s licks. Ianto felt what Miranda had done was shit too, but he wasn’t punishing her for it. He knew Miranda would do that all on her own. There was no reason for him to add fuel to that already roaring fire.

So when Gwen strode towards the autopsy bay after seeing to a rift alert with Ianto, Jack decided to put a stop to it. He snagged her arm as she passed by, dragging her around to face him.

“Enough, Gwen. Knock it off. You’ve made your point,” he said.

Defiant as ever, she lifted her chin a little higher and said, “I don’t know what you mean, Jack.”

He narrowed his eyes at her and said, “You know perfectly well what I mean. You back off of Will. I mean it.”

“Playing favourites?” she snipped.

He let go of her arm with a little shove. “You know better than that. She’s letting you get away with it because she thinks she deserves it-”

“She does!” Gwen snapped.

“I’m angry at her too, Gwen. And because of that I’ve let this carry on longer than I should’ve. Enough is enough.” Jack could see the gears turning in Gwen’s head that would lock her heels in place as she dug them in. “You don’t have to be her friend. But I want you to be professional.”

At that Gwen at least agreed. She nodded and said, “Yes, Captain.”

“Good,” Jack replied, terse.

Gwen whirled away and went to take care of whatever she was going to ask Miranda to do herself. Jack caught Ianto’s eye and they both shared a strained look and resumed their work.

After Jack’s scolding, Gwen stopped dumping her work onto Miranda and hurling nasty comments in the other woman’s direction. Unfortunately, her chilly demeanour spread to Jack, but that wasn’t unexpected.

By the beginning of the next week, they were all looking forward to Fish’s first day back. Jack felt it was too soon. Actually, they all felt it was too soon, but Fish was adamant that he was fine. He kept insisting that since there was to be no field work and he was only to be there a few hours a day, a few days a week, he would be fine. He’d ease back in.

Ianto made sure to pick up Fish’s favourite pastries and a cake at the bake shop and had them ready and waiting. He set Fish’s coffee mug down in front of him with an exaggerated flourish.

“Good to have you back, mate,” Ianto said, brightly. “How are you feeling?”

“Great, Ianto,” Fish said, smiling. “It’s good to be back. Henry’s been positively suffocating. I thought he was a mother hen before, but now?” He shook his head.

“Is that why he said he’d be back tomorrow?” Ianto asked, grinning.

“I felt bad, really I do, but I need the bloody space,” he replied, rolling his eyes. He jerked his head towards the autopsy bay. “She all right? She popped by to say hi, gave me a hug, but didn’t say much. Said she’d bought this flat on the bay with great windows.”

“Yeah, she’s staying with us during the renovations. Didn’t want to stay in the bunker.” Ianto shrugged. “She’s grieving, but it’s more than that. Been a lot of drama. I’ll fill you in later.”

“Jack warned me some. Said something about Gwen being difficult. Said it had something to do with how John died.”

Ianto nodded and let out a sad sigh. “Gwen, she’s been…” Ianto flicked his gaze upward, trying to find a polite way to phrase what he needed to say and failed. “Well, there’s no other way to put it. She’s been a bitch.”

Fish flinched. “Ouch.”

“It’s all in Miranda’s direction. And well, Jack’s now too now that he told her she was being unprofessional.” Ianto nodded towards the hallway, “Ah, speak of the devil. She’ll be excited to see you too.”

Fish craned his head, and saw Gwen was all smiles. “Looks like she’s happy to see me.”

Ianto smiled. “We all are, Fish.” He clapped his friend on the shoulder, noting the way he flinched and removed his hand immediately. “I’ve got a bit of filing to do. See you later, yeah? I'll order your favourite for lunch.”

Fish nodded and waved at Gwen who was bouncing over to see him. Ianto stepped off towards the east stairs, as Gwen embraced her friend, joyfully greeting him. Ianto gripped the east door’s hatch style handle and opened it. The Hub maintenance had fallen to the wayside in the insanity of Fish’s capture, and no one had oiled the hatch in weeks. The door’s hinge emitted a loud, piercing squeal as Ianto opened it.

Suddenly, the whole room went blurry for Fish. His hands felt as if they’d been plunged into ice water and his mouth dried. His heart began to pound in his chest. He stood up, his chair skittering backwards. His eyes darted around the room as he scurried away. He scrambled, hands and feet fumbling and colliding with each other. The tears streamed down his cheeks. His chest felt tight, like he couldn’t breathe even though he was panting.

“Fish? Fish? What is it?” Gwen asked, worried. She bent to touch him as he scrambled away. It caused Fish to panic even more. He let out a strangled scream and began hyperventilating so much, Gwen feared he would pass out.

Jack bolted out of his office the moment he saw Fish begin to panic. By the time he reached the Australian, Fish was curled in a ball against one of the far walls. Tears were running down his cheeks and he was hyperventilating so hard, they feared he would pass out. Hearing the commotion, Ianto and Miranda appeared. Miranda disappeared back into the autopsy bay to get a syringe of sedative.

Not wanting to wait, Jack grabbed the bottle of water out of Gwen’s hand. He unscrewed the cap and then proceeded to dump it over Fish’s hand, slowly. He spoke in a low, soft voice, his tones calming.

“Joe? It’s Jack. Focus on my voice.” He shuffled closer. “You’re in the Hub. You’re safe.” He paused. “It’s Jack. You’re in the Hub. You’re safe. Breathe slow for me. Can you do that?” He paused again. “You’re safe, Joe. Take a nice breath. Focus on my voice.”

Fish took a deep, shaking breath and then resumed his hyperventilating.

“You’re safe, Joe. Breathe deep. Slowly. Focus on my voice.”

By the time Fish took another slow breath, Miranda had returned with the sedative. Jack held out his hand behind him to stop them.

“That’s it. Focus on me. It’s Jack. You’re safe. I’m going to recite the elements. Join me when you can. It’s okay. You’re safe.” He took a slow breath, relieved to see Fish’s breathing had slowed. “Hydrogen. Helium. That’s it, breathe deep. It’s Jack. You’re safe. Lithium. Beryllium.”

Fish took a couple more deep breaths as Jack continued down the periodic table. By the time he got to oxygen, Fish began to recite with him. “Fluorine. Neon. Sodium. Magnesium. Aluminium. Silicon.” He trailed off as he took another breath.

“Better?” Jack asked with a smile.

Fish nodded looking mortified. Gwen was about to open her mouth but Jack silenced her with a look. He subtly waved them away so that Fish’s embarrassment wasn’t worsened by an audience. Miranda handed him the syringe, just in case, and then left with the others.

Jack was about to ask if he could touch Fish’s arm, but thought better of it. Fish sat down on the floor, stretching out his legs. “I’m sorry, Jack. I don’t know what happened.”

“Just a panic attack,” he said. “Have you been having any other signs of post-traumatic stress at home?”

Fish shook his head. “I've been a bit irritable. I don’t like being in a room with the door shut anymore. I’ve had a few nightmares, but nothing like this. I thought I was coping really well... until now. I spoke to the UNIT shrink Martha recommended.”

“Vasquez?”

Fish nodded. “He thought it was a bit soon for me to be coming back, but I thought I was fine. He left it up to me, said if I thought I could handle it. I thought it'd be good... get me out of the house... give me something to distract me from dwelling on it all the bloody time…”

“These kinds of symptoms can appear months or even years later,” Jack said.

Fish shook his head and tapped it against the wall in frustration again.

“Hey,” Jack said, sternly. “This isn’t anything to be ashamed of, Joe.”

Fish rolled his eyes.

“I’m serious,” Jack said. “You went through a lot.”

“I feel like a bloody child,” Fish admitted, tears gathering in his eyes. “Scared of the fucking dark. I don’t want the bedroom door shut. I have to be able to see the whole room or my heart starts to pound and my hands get clammy.” Frustrated, he tapped is head against the wall again. “I thought it was normal. I was just a bit traumatised, that was all. I thought I was strong enough to handle it and get through it and move on.”

“Hey, this has nothing to do with being weak. Nothing.”

He didn’t answer Jack because he didn’t believe him.

Reassuringly, Jack said, “We rushed things. It’s okay. We’ll take a step back.”

Fish nodded. The tears began to well up again as he stared at his four fingered hand. “All I want to do is fucking forget it ever happened, but I see this fucking thing and I’m reminded every day. Every fucking hour.” He clenched it in a fist. “You know I can still feel it, like it’s still there. I felt the cold water on it, like it’d never gone.”

“I’m sorry this happened to you, Joe,” he said, softly.

There was a throat clear from behind him. Ianto said, “I’ve phone Henry. He’s on his way to pick you up.”

Fish brought his knees up and buried his face in them. They muffled his voice as he replied, “He’s never going to let me live this down. He told me it was too soon. He didn’t want me coming back yet. Christ, he’s going to be insufferable. Treats me like bloody glass, like I’m fucking fragile and about to break.” Jack heard the tears start again. “It looks like he was right.”

“You’re not broken,” Jack said, firmly. “You just need to heal. You go home with Henry and you do that.”

Fish nodded and slowly got to his feet and Jack tugged the handkerchief from his pocket. He handed it to Fish who took it with a strained smile. He wiped his face and blew his nose.

“Let’s wait for Henry in my office, all right?” he asked. Without taking Fish’s hand, or touching the other man, he led him to his office.

Over the next few weeks, Henry reported that Fish’s condition had deteriorated further. His panic attacks became more frequent, triggered by unexpected things. To their devastation, Fish began to develop significant agoraphobia, having panic attacks when he attempted to leave the loft. The couple had hoped to be in Australia in time for the Christmas holiday, but had to cancel all their travel plans. Fish was in no shape to even leave their loft, let alone travel halfway around the world.

Henry reported to the team that, to Fish’s chagrin, his therapist had started him on medications to control his anxiety and the worsening depression caused by being homebound and isolated. The couple then began dealing with the multitude of side effects that went along with those medicines. Fish was proud and embarrassed, but not so much that he refused to lean on his friends. Ianto spoke with him frequently and he knew that Fish was also talking to Jack and Miranda. What had surprised Ianto was that Henry also needed a great deal of support with his feelings of powerlessness, worry and anguish over watching the person he loves suffer. The three immortals also spent a lot of time talking to Henry too.

With Fish’s troubles and the heavy work load, the first of December came at them fast. As the date approached, Miranda’s mood improved. The immortal woman was positively glowing, bordering on giddy. The only thing that caused her any stress were hiccups in the renovations to the flat she’d bought.

Miranda’s delighted mood vanished quickly as the first came and went. And then the second. And then the third. And then the entire first week of December. It was nearly Christmas when Miranda began to look positively depressed. Even though her flat was in shambles, she moved in anyway. She sacked her builders but didn’t hire new ones nor dig into the renovations herself. When she was at the Hub, she frequently shunned food and had begun to lose weight again. Ianto worried she wasn’t eating at home either since the flat’s kitchen was in pieces.

One morning, after refusing breakfast and cancelling her sparring session with Ianto, Jack decided there needed to be some intervention. He found Miranda in the autopsy bay, up to her elbows in a corpse.

“Will?”

“What is it, Jack? I’m busy,” she snipped. She dug further into the corpse’s abdomen, pushing aside intestine. The moist squishing noise turned Jack stomach a bit.

“I wanted to talk to you about John.”

At that, she yanked up her hands and roughly removed her gloves with a rubbery snap. She tossed them into the biohazard bin and slammed the lid shut. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“I think there is,” he said.

She leaned over the sink. “He’s not coming.”

“He’s just late.”

“He’s not coming.”

“You don’t know that,” he said.

She whirled around. “Neither do you.”

He held up his wrist strap. “This requires a lot of maths. It’s complicated stuff, and John’s not good at it.”

“You expect me to believe he’s late because of an error in maths?” she asked.

Jack nodded. “The manipulator will do the maths for you, but John always told me he needed the practice so he never used the calculation feature. Whenever he tries to do it by hand, he makes mistakes.”

“And that makes him late?” Miranda looked very sceptical.

“Once he used an incorrect inverse and ended up a couple centuries off.”

“If he landed in the wrong time and place, wouldn’t he merely jump again?”

Jack shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense, but smaller jumps are infinitely more complicated than large ones. It seems like jumping back and forth a few minutes or a few weeks or months should be easy if you can jump a century or two, but it isn't. The calculations are even harder and if he couldn’t make a small jump back, he may have just decided to stay there. All we have to do is catch up.”

Miranda turned back towards the sink and leaned again. She rinsed the latex powder from her fingers and then carefully dried them thoroughly. Roughly, she took a pair of autopsy gloves from the box and opened them. After donning them, she returned to the corpse. She flicked her gaze up to Jack and nodded at him, then resumed her work, looking mostly convinced. As Jack walked away, he wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince more – her or himself.

Jack’s assurances that Hart’s lateness was nothing more than a small miscalculation improved her mood, but it was short lived. By the time the New Year rolled past, her mood waned. To Ianto and Jack's dismay, she'd lost all the healthy weight she'd gained during her stay in New York and was beginning to look skeletal again. She began cancelling her sparring sessions with Ianto more and more, and by the time January was nearly gone, the lack of sword practise and exercise he normally equated with Miranda had truly begun to worry him. Even though Henry was largely focused on Fish's mental health, he had also noticed their former teacher becoming neglectful and rang Ianto to ask tell him that they must intervene.

After that phone conversation, Ianto decided to ring Duncan MacLeod. On one chilly day in late January, he went up to the Tourist Office and dialled the Scotsman's mobile number.

“Ianto! What a lovely surprise!” The voice on the other end wasn't Scottish. It was Welsh.

“Methos?”

“Yes?”

“I was trying to get a hold of Mac.”

“Obviously, as this is his phone. Am I not good enough for Ifan of Cymru?”

Ianto suppressed an eye roll. “Is Mac there?”

“He's gone to the shops and forgotten his mobile. Should be back soon. Want me to have him ring you when he gets back?”

“No...” There was no reason he shouldn't tell Methos about what was going on with Miranda. Ianto still didn't quite understand the complexities of their relationship. The way Miranda saw her spouses, friends and lovers never failed to confuse him. At first, she had referred to the older immortal as her husband, but at some point had switched and begun referring to him as her ex-husband. There seemed to be no animosity between the two. Ianto didn't believe there was a reason not to mention Miranda's sorrows and mentioning it to Duncan likely meant Methos would find out anyway. “Mandy's in a bit of a bad way.”

“Oh? Touch of the flu, is it?” he asked, sarcastically.

This time Ianto couldn't suppress the eye roll. “She's down in the mouth.”

“Ah, that time of the millennium again is it?” Methos said, brightly.

There was no hint of concern in his voice, and Ianto began to lose his patience. “Look, if you're not going to take this seriously, I'd just as soon wait for Mac. Have him ring me later.”

“Don't get your knickers in a twist, Cymro. Mei-Xiu goes through these little phases. A couple decades in the desert or the forest communing with Mother Earth and she's fine. Do you need a cwtch because you're going to miss your mummy?”

“It's more than that this time,” Ianto said, ignoring Methos's teasing. He quickly tried to come up with an explanation for Hart's lateness without revealing to Methos that the man was travelling through time and late probably because he was shite with maths. “Mandy was seeing someone and he popped off for a bit. He was supposed to be back, but he's late.”

“And this,” - Methos used a word Ianto neither understood, recognised or would be able to reproduce but assumed was some sort of vulgar insult - “has abandoned her and she's pining?”

“It's more than that.” Ianto sighed. “She's dropped weight. She's not sparring with me anymore.”

“That's uncharacteristic,” Methos said, surprised. “There's more to this than you are telling me.”

“I can't say more,” Ianto insisted.

“Mac and I will be on the next train.”

Before Ianto could open his mouth, Methos rang off. The two immortal men were, indeed, on the next train. Methos rang Ianto to pick them up at the railway station. They’d planned on checking into a hotel, but Ianto set them up in his old flat. He'd rang Miranda's friends to see if they could cheer her up, but the two men raised a concern that Ianto hadn’t even thought of – the Game. Malnourished, not practising or exercising meant Miranda was vulnerable to challengers. They were few and far between, but the danger was still there. The two men took turns staying with Miranda in the evenings under the guise of helping her with her renovations. Whether Miranda believed them, Ianto didn't care, their presence was helping. In addition to making her flat liveable, they’d been eating their meals with Miranda, forcing her to eat out of manners. Under the guise of wanting to brush up on a few techniques, Duncan had also been able to drag Miranda into sparring and exercise again. Though the immortal woman’s mood and physical condition weren’t getting any worse, they weren’t getting better either. Ianto decided to take it as a small victory and wait to see if Hart was just late or not coming back at all.

 


	29. Chapter 29

Jack frowned as he flipped through one of Miranda’s autopsy reports. Usually, he just signed whatever was put in front of him because Ianto and Miranda read them first. With the team so short, Jack had two piles – a pile to be signed and a pile to be read then signed. He rubbed at his eyes, putting the report down. He was about to pick it up again when his mobile rang.

 _Saved by the bell!_ he thought as he answered it. “Hello?”

“Morning, Jack.”

“Hey, hey! Fish! What a nice surprise!” He leaned back in his seat, grinning. “I haven’t heard from you all week. How are you?”

“Still improving a little every day,” he replied.

“Henry driving you up the wall?”

“A bit, but I know it’s out of love.”

“So what can I do for you?”

“I’ve been going a bit stir crazy-”

Concerned, Jack interrupted him, “Fish…”

“I don’t want to come back to work,” Fish said, heading off whatever speech Jack was winding into. “Vasquez agrees that it could set back my recovery and that’s the last thing I want to do. I feel like I'm more in control and he’s pleased with the progress I’m making. So, Henry and I rebooked our flight to New York.”

“That’s great, Fish!”

“Just New York for now. He told us to take it slow so we are. Maybe we’ll get all the way to Australia and tour Asia, maybe we won’t, but one step at a time.”

Jack heard him take a breath.

“Since we’ve no idea when John is coming back, I rang Mickey. I don’t want to leave you lot in a lurch.”

“You’re not leaving us in a lurch,” Jack insisted. “Will and I ran this place, alone, for five years. We'll be fine.”

“You always bloody say that, but just because you _can_ do something doesn’t mean you _should_ ,” Fish said, hotly. He took a breath and said, more calmly, “Look, when it was six of us? It was nice, Jack. Adding that one person tipped the scales enough so that we weren’t overworked. We all got to live. I know you like to keep the team small, but keeping us at six or seven people isn’t turning us into One. Just think about that, okay?” He cleared his throat. “Mickey’ll be free to come to Cardiff in a few weeks. I was wondering if I could stop in tonight, after everyone’s gone home, so I could pick some things up?”

“You’re welcome here any time, Fish.”

“I’d like to do this alone.”

Jack decided not to ask whether or not Fish was leaving for good. “Your accesses still work. Stop by whenever you’re comfortable.”

“Thanks, Jack. For everything.”

“I love you, Fish. You’ll take care of yourself, won’t you?”

“This isn’t good-bye,” Fish insisted.

 _But I hope it is_ … A part of Jack wanted Fish to run and never return, to find some quiet corner of the world, grow old with Henry and die one day, far from now, old and grey.

“We’ll leave it open ended. Knock on the flat door if you want company.”

“I will. Thanks, Jack.”

When Fish entered the Hub, it was in night mode. He was positive that Jack would ensure the place was empty for him, and it was. A variety of emotions assaulted him as he packed up his desk. He didn’t have many personal items. Most of the desk’s contents were office supplies that didn’t belong to him. There were some tattered books and some silly mementos. He picked up a piece of jagged metal that had been from a piece of tech that had nearly killed him when it had short circuited and exploded. As he turned the sharp piece of metal in his hands, a noise brought his head up. Ianto was descending the ladder from the pterodactyl perch.

“How’s Hywel?” he asked.

“Healing nicely. Myfanwy’s very protective,” Ianto said. He held out his arm. Fish saw a rip in the Welshman’s dress shirt that was stained with blood. The gash shrank before Fish's eyes, but it looked like it'd been deep.

Fish winced. “Ouch.”

“You know, Jack said something about pterodactyl birth control, but I think it’s a serious concern,” Ianto said. He nodded upwards. “When I went up, they were snuggled together.”

“That's sweet,” Fish said, smiling. “But you’re right, we don’t want a bunch of baby pterodactyls flying around.”

Ianto nodded. “Even with the one, we’re having to squash reports of UFOs and monster stories when Myfanwy swipes a sheep while she’s out for her exercise.”

“And we already feel badly letting her out only once a week,” Fish replied. “Going to get worse with two of them.”

Ianto nodded. “Something for us to think about. I didn’t realise you were here, Fish. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything or want some company,” Ianto said, hastily retreating.

“It’s all right. Stay,” Fish said. He turned his desk chair and pushed it out as an invitation.

Ianto smiled and sat down as Fish picked up the digital picture frame and unplugged it, carefully winding up the cord. He reached out for the last item he'd intended to pack – Cameron's tennis ball. When they had put all of Cameron's possessions into storage, something about the tennis ball had intrigued Fish. So instead of packing it away, he'd kept it even though it was technically against the rules. He was about to put it into his box of items, but instead, he turned and handed it to Ianto. The Welshman smiled in thanks and took the ball, turning it in his hands.

“Tell Mickey he can do what he likes with the desk.”

“I will. I’m glad you’re taking time.”

“I need it, mate,” Fish said. He wiggled the remaining fingers of his left hand. “I’ve got a lot of shit to work through.”

“We were all worried about you for a while. We're glad you've improved enough to be able to travel.”

“Vasquez has helped me a lot with coping. I've learned the key is avoiding triggers. At first, that was the hardest bloody part because I was still discovering them,” Fish said. He squashed the embarrassment he faced every time he talked about it. He firmly reminded himself there was nothing he had to be ashamed of and that having a some issues after such a traumatic event didn't mean he was weak. “I'm sleeping loads better.” He winced and admitted, “I hate being dependent on the sleeping pills, though. They’re addicting and I hate to think I’ll have a hard time coming off them when this is all done with.” _If it’s ever done with…_

“You’ll cross that bridge when you come to it. And you shouldn’t think about the medicine that way,” Ianto reassured. “Diabetics need insulin. Someone with a broken arm needs a sling. Someone with a heart problem needs on a pacemaker. They're sick. You're sick. And you're all doing what you need to to heal.”

Fish nodded and sat down. He tried not to voice the fear that he'd be fighting the PTSD for the rest of his life. “Bloody pills are a menace, but they've helped a lot. I'd still be a prisoner in my own home without them.”

“I'm sure once you're settled the side effects will calm down,” Ianto said.

“That's what Vasquez said,” Fish replied with a nod. He certainly hoped it was true. To his mortification, the drugs had caused him to put on half a stone and had destroyed his sex life, even though there hadn't been much of one anyway since he'd gotten out of hospital. “We're going to be doing phone sessions while I'm away.”

“He thinks you're okay to travel?” Ianto asked, a little concerned.

Fish nodded. “He thinks I'm ready and, to be honest, I've got to get out of here, mate. No offence, but...” he trailed off and waved around the Hub. “This is all too much for me right now.”

“Take all the time you need, Fish.” Ianto jerked his head at the sword hanging on its hooks. “I should've taken time after all that. It was stupid of me not to. It was my pride, you know? Listen, you ring any time, day or night, if you need anything. Even if you don’t, ring to let us know how you are.”

Fish smiled, “I will.”

“Henry must be thrilled you two are getting away for so long, even if it's a little delayed,” Ianto said.

Fish nodded. “He is and he’s never been to Australia. Nearly five hundred years old and he's never been outside Europe or North American, can you believe that? We're going to take it slow, see how it goes, but Anna’s over the moon. If and when we get to Australia it'll be the longest I've ever spent there since I left for university and I was just sixteen then. We’re renting a flat nearby so we can spend time with her, Robert and the kids. If it all goes well, we're going to travel around Asia since neither of us have ever been. China. Korea. Japan. India. Maybe Thailand and Malaysia and the Philippines.”

“That sounds wonderful, Fish,” he said. “We’ll be here if you come back.”

Fish echoed, “If I come back.”

“I know Jack gave you the option. If you don't come back, I hope you’ll visit sometimes, because I’ll miss my friend,” Ianto said with a warm smile.

“What do you think I should do?” he asked.

Ianto leaned against the desk. He furrowed his brow and said, “Only you can decide that. It’s not my place to have an opinion.” He grinned and teased, “But if you’re fishing for me to throw myself at you and beg you not to leave and tell you that you’re indispensable to the team and we’d never get on without you…”

He threw his head back and laughed. “C’mon, mate, you know me better than that. I’m asking honestly. What would you do if you were me?”

“I’m not you, Fish.” He felt the other man staring at him. He took a deep breath and said, “I remember I overheard someone telling their kid that an adult can do whatever they wanted, but they don’t have the freedom to.”

Fish winced. “That sounds about right.”

Ianto held up his finger and wagged it. “See, I don’t think that’s true. We like to think that the script of life is dragging us along, and it does to some extent. But not as much as we think.” He jerked his head back towards his sword again. “We’re creatures of habit and when life throws us a bump like that? We like to think we don’t have choices, but the truth is we don’t want to make them. I could’ve taken time off. I could’ve chosen to leave. I could’ve found a different path.”

“But you stayed.”

Ianto nodded. “I stayed. I stayed because, consciously or not, I thought being Torchwood was just the way it was.” He hesitated and then blurted, “If I had it to do all over again? I’d grab Jack and get as far away from here as I could, spend my whole life with him, and die old and grey in his arms.” He looked up at his friend and said, “But that wasn’t what I chose. And an alien creature with venomous, razor sharp claws was the end of me.”

Fish sat back. “I get what you’re saying, Ianto, I do, but there’s this burn inside me that says this is where I belong. Vasquez says I need to get away, get some distance, gain some perspective. I need to see life outside of all this. So, that’s what I’m doing, but for now, my plan is to come back after I’ve had a bit of space.” Fish shook his head and furrowed his brow in confusion. “It’s hard to explain. Deep down in my gut, I feel like this is where I belong. I felt it the minute Gwen brought me down the lift. It’s like it’s in my bones, this place.”

Ianto felt his eyes sting. “You’ll have plenty of time to think.”

“I will,” he said. He stood up and put some more of his things into the box. “Henry and I might need a new compromise.” A crooked grin came over his face. “We might start a family.”

The statement sent a surge of shock and nerves through Ianto that he quickly reined in. “Surrogate or adoption?”

“Not sure yet,” he said, shrugging. “We’re just talking now.”

“It’s strange, I never wanted kids before,” Fish said, grinning. “Don’t know why I fancy making myself a father now. I’m almost fifty.”

Ianto felt a lump form in his throat. “Our perspectives change.”

“Sometimes I wonder if it’s unfair, you know? Death by Torchwood and all that. I mean, even if I live, I’ll be nearly seventy when the kid’s heading to university.”

Anxious to change the subject, Ianto said, “I think Gwen may be pregnant again.”

Fish's grin magnified. “Really? Did she say?”

He shook his head. “No, mate, but her and Rhys have been doing in-vitro.”

“I hope it works for her this time,” Fish said, still smiling. He glanced over to Gwen's empty workstation. It was empty, the former PC having long gone home. “She and Evie speaking again?”

Ianto shook his head. “I know they've had a few heart to hearts over a couple bottles of wine, but things are still tense. I don't think Gwen's come out and apologised. They're barely professional but that's all. I don't know if it'll ever be right again. Gwen said some pretty hateful things.”

Fish snorted and said, “You know, that kind of drama makes me glad I married a bloke. Henry and I have a row? We apologise, have sex, and it's forgotten.”

Simultaneously, Fish and Ianto had a male moment, both of them picturing Gwen and Miranda sprawled naked together in bed. Both their eyes met and they laughed. Ianto said, “That'd be a sight, wouldn't it?”

Fish nodded and laughed.

“When Olivia was cross with you, did she keep after you about why she was cross? And it'd make her even more bloody angry when you had no idea?”

Fish rolled his eyes. “Like I was a bloody mind reader! She'd also never let anything go. Bring up shite I said or did years ago that had absolutely nothing to do with whatever was going on at that moment.”

“Lisa did the same thing. Birds.” He reached behind him and picked up his coffee mug. “Here's to going bender and never looking back.”

Fish grabbed his own coffee mug and clinked it with Ianto's, even though they were both empty. “Here's to being buggered for the rest of our lives.”

The two of them dissolved into fits of laughter for a few moments.

Ianto asked, “When are you off, mate? We'd all like to give you a proper send off, bit of a party.”

“Oh, don't go to too much trouble,” Fish said, frowning. One disastrous night, Henry had attempted to spoon behind him and had set him off. That had been when Fish's touch aversion had started. It had improved a lot, but he still became nervous in crowds where someone might accidentally push up against his back and send him into a panic. “I get nervous around crowds. The less people around the less chance something'll set me off, you know?”

“Just a couple pints down the pub, I promise. We'll go on an off night so there's not too many people. Or we'll book the whole place.”

Fish didn’t want Ianto to go through all that trouble, but he didn’t want a panic attack or flashback embarrassing him in public. “That’d be better.”

Ianto nodded. “You want me to help you to your car with that?”

“I’ve got it. Henry’s picking me up. We’re going to Evie’s for drinks, maybe a bit of a late dinner,” he said, checking his watch.

“Have you gone out to a restaurant yet?”

“Yeah, that quiet bistro you and Jack recommended. The food was fantastic. I’m fine if we’re seated in a corner, where I can see the whole room and the door.”

Ianto stood up held his arms open. “Come on, mate.”

Thankfully, Fish was okay with friendly touch from people he knew. He smiled and embraced his friend, thumping him on the back a few times. He said, “You know I love you, right, Ianto?”

“I love you too, Joe,” Ianto replied, his eyes stinging again.

Fish pulled back, giving his friend a watery smile. He joked, “You know, I’ve come a long way since I first met you lot. I reckon if you and Jack had held off asking me to ‘dance’ until now and I hadn’t met Henry, I’d said yes.”

Ianto threw his head back and laughed.

“Oh, now you tell us,” Jack said as he approached the two friends.

Fish rolled his eyes, but smiled affectionately as Jack put his arm around Ianto’s waist from behind. “Infected me with your fifty-first century ways, Jack.”

Jack laughed, his eyes sparkling. “Well, if you and Henry’d consider a swap-”

“Henry and I don’t share, but thanks anyway,” Fish said, smiling.

“Got everything, Fish?” Jack asked, nodding at the box.

Fish nodded. “I’m going to go meet Henry. We’re going to Evie’s for some drinks, maybe a late dinner. Our flight isn’t for a couple days.”

“We’re all going out before you leave, right?” Jack asked. He sounded like a small boy on the edge of monumental disappointment.

Ianto nodded. “We’ll figure something out that’s nice and quiet for you, Fish.”

“Let me know. And even if we don’t, I’ll ring before we leave and when we get to New York.”

“Give Tom my love,” Jack said, sincerely.

Without thinking, Fish blurted, “I think he’d rather that come from Alice.”

Jack let out a small sigh. “She misses him too, though she won’t admit it. I know he still talks to Steven, but Steven doesn’t want his Mum to know that.”

Fish nodded. Tom's move back to New York had been motivated by a broken heart. “I know. I think Tom’s being too proud.”

“So’s she,” Jack said.

“I wonder where she gets that from,” Ianto muttered and Jack pinched his side.

“I had Evie talk to him. I think that softened him up a bit.”

He nodded. In truth, Jack was surprised that Alice had confided in him about her and Tom’s break-up at all. While Jack's relationship with his daughter had gotten off to a rocky start, they now spoke on a more regular basis. Jack and Ianto even got to see Alice and Steven for dinner sometimes.

Jack said, “She’s waiting on him. She said, ‘He knows where I am and how to reach me if he wants to talk.’”

“I’ll talk to Henry. He likes Alice, thinks she's a good match for Tom.” Fish picked up the box, wincing internally at the odd feel of his missing finger. “We’ll see if we can’t get these crazy kids’ heads out of their collective arses.”

Jack laughed. “You need help with that?”

Fish shook his head. “I’ve got it. Still odd, missing this finger.” He glanced up at the clock and his eyes went a bit wide. “Oopse, going to be late. Night you two.”

As Fish walked towards the invisible lift, Jack and Ianto waved. When he was gone, Jack stretched upwards. “He looks good.”

“Henry said he was loads better, but it's good to see it for ourselves,” Ianto said, nodding.

Jack turned Fish's desk chair around, sitting on it backwards with his hands resting on the back. “How are you doing?”

Ianto narrowed his eyes at his husband in confusion. “I'm fine, Jack. Why do you ask?”

“I know this is new to you,” he said, jerking his head towards the hallway. “I just want to make sure you're okay.”

Ianto sat down and rolled his chair over to Jack's. They were completely alone, so the conversation was safe. “I tossed it about in my head a lot, but it’s easier now that Fish isn’t here. I still think about it. I’m still getting used to it. When I’m talking to him, it’s all easier if I avoid it and don’t think about it. It might not be the healthiest solution, but it works.” He let out a small sigh. “When I remember, I feel guilty. It's like David all over again. Except I know I can’t tell him this.”

Jack nodded.

“Which brings up a whole new issue. Now that I know he's going to... what's going to happen to him, I feel like I have to tell him about David even more,” Ianto said. He picked at a stray bit of thread coming out of the chair seat. “I just can't sort out how to do it.”

Jack rolled his chair so he was close enough to put his hand on Ianto's leg. “I've always known about David. I didn't know he didn't know, though. David-” Jack broke off before he said too much about Fish’s son. He tried to shove off the break in his speech quickly before his husband noticed. He shrugged and said, “History is broad strokes, not fine detail. I knew he existed, but I didn’t know that Fish didn’t know.”

“Devil’s in the details,” Ianto said, wincing again. “And then there’s a part of me that wonders if I shouldn’t tell him. This is the kind of thing that can have a huge impact on David’s life. Is it right for me to do that to a little boy?”

“Time Agent Rule Number One,” Jack said.

“Stay out of time’s way,” Ianto echoed Hart’s words. Jack shifted in his chair and his husband immediately picked up on the fidget. “What aren’t you telling me, Jack?”

He frowned. “I don’t know if I should tell you.”

“What difference does it make at this point?” Ianto asked, shrugging.

Jack sat there for a moment, crossing his arms and thinking. He opened his vortex manipulator and tapped it, activating its silencing feature. “In my time, David is just as famous as his father. He was a renewable energy scientist.”

“Like Fish,” Ianto noted.

Jack nodded. “He’s quoted as saying his father was the single-most influencing figure in his life.”

“Well then that settles it,” Ianto said, straightening.

Jack touched his arm. “But it doesn’t. It doesn’t tell us anything, just that Fish’s life influenced him. It doesn’t say that David knew him at all. And sometimes the absence of a parental figure can be just as significant as its presence.”

Ianto leaned back, staring up into the Hub’s cavernous ceiling. “Damned if I do. Damned if I don’t.”

“Exactly,” Jack said, shrugging. “There are too many outcomes to the situation. We could tell Fish and David’s thrilled, the two become close and Fish’s influence causes David to become the famous scientist I learned about. Or David resents Fish for never being there and that never happens. Or we don’t tell him and David never has the influence that led him to science. Or not having his father makes David want to incorporate the scientist father he never knew into his life. There are too many variables.”

“I take it cocking that up would be bad?”

Jack nodded. “David’s energy work is the foundation for the propulsion systems used in spaceships. David Porter is the father of interstellar space travel.”

Ianto shook his head and scrubbed his face. The weight of exactly what was in his hands fell onto his shoulders like a tonne of bricks. “Christ.”

“Fish saves us so we can travel the stars. David gives us the tools to do it,” Jack said, quietly.

“So, I just sit back, and watch Fish die never knowing that his son is out there?”

“I know it’s hard, Yan. But it’s the way it has to be.”

“He made me promise him, Jack. He told me not to let him forget,” Ianto said, near tears. “He fucking begged me.”

“What would Fish think is more important, Ianto?”

“I know, I know!”

Jack took Ianto’s hands in his. “I’m sorry, I put this on you, Yan.”

Ianto squeezed Jack’s hands. “Don’t be. This is what it’s about, yeah? Helping each other through things.”

Jack nodded and stood. “Time’ll play out the way it supposed to.”

Ianto also stood, and stretched. He felt better, but not much. He’d long begun to expect that Jack had already found a solution to their problem, that his husband planned to sacrifice himself in Fish’s place. He had no proof but that was just the sort of thing Jack would do. There had to be another way.

“I have to do some of the tidying up, then I’ll be down.”

Jack nodded and disappeared of down the north stairs. Once he’d descended out of view, Ianto began seeing to the nightly chores. Not only had the team lost Fish but they’d also lost their temporary butler. Henry had stayed home, focusing on Fish’s recovery. There was a cleaning rota, but the other team members didn’t clean things to his standards.

The tidying up didn’t take him long at all, but he was definitely ready to turn in for the night when he got downstairs. To his surprise, when he opened the door, the sultry voice of Norah Jones was drifting through their lounge. Ianto smiled and removed his tie, tossing it onto the sofa. After hanging up his suit jacket, he rolled up his shirt sleeves and unbuttoned his shirt halfway. The last thing he did was toe off his shoes and peel off his socks. Jack found him positively edible, half out of his suit and barefoot.

When he pushed their bedroom door open, a romantic scene greeted him. The room was awash in the glow of lit candles – lavender and vanilla judging by the light scent in the air. Jack was on their bed, waiting for him. He wasn’t draped out in a provocative position at all. He was sitting underneath the blankets with his knees bent. His arms were draped across his knees and there was a soft, almost shy smile on his face.

“Was there something you had planned for this evening?” Ianto asked, leaning against the open door.

“Oh, I thought we could think of something,” Jack said, turning up the wattage on his smile.

Ianto matched it and prowled towards his husband. Fully clothed, he draped himself on top of him, the bed linens between them. He reached into his pocket and dropped his stopwatch onto the bed.

“Well, we are still working through that list.”

“Jones, Ianto Jones? I like the way you think.”

Right about when Ianto slid balls deep into Jack’s body, that Captain John Hart materialised in the main Hub, with a flash of light and a snapping sound.

At least the dampener he’d purchased for his manipulator had worked. The rift sensors didn’t detect him and set off the alerts. Just to make sure, he strode over to one of the workstations and tapped away. He’d expected to be locked out, but his access codes still worked. When he brought up the rift alert system, he saw that the sensors hadn't detected his arrival. Hart opened his manipulator and detached the device, leaving it on the worktable he shared with Fish. His friend could dissect it later. He'd needed something cheap so he'd purchased a small, single use item. When he turned towards the north stairs, that was when he noticed the clock in the corner of the computer.

 _Wrong coordinates…_ He had intended to land at night, but not quite this early. Hart tapped at his manipulator a few times and his eyes went wide. He'd intended to return only moments after he'd left Miranda sleeping in his bed. He was over a year past the point when he’d originally left!

Hart swore and contemplated jumping again, but if he did, he wouldn’t have the dampener. He'd hoped to slip back into bed with Miranda, unnoticed. Okay, it was a cowardly thing to do, but leaving had been equally cowardly.

_At least, I'm consistent..._

There was no hope of sneaking in unnoticed without the dampener. He stood there for a moment, weighing his choices. Either way, he'd have to face what he'd done. Miranda would likely be far more receptive to forgiving him, if he'd only been gone a few moments and it was sorely tempting, but these mistakes were often more serendipitous than they first appeared. He didn’t even bother dropping his duffel bag into his old room. He just dashed back up towards the storage-room-turned-flat with it over his shoulder.

When he opened the door, the lounge was dark. He didn't bother to turn on the light. If he had, he would've noticed the room was completely different from when he’d left. He threw open the bedroom door, bolting inside and froze.

Candles were lit, bathing the room in a warm glow. Norah Jones was playing softly in the background. In the dim light, Hart didn't immediately recognise Jack and Ianto. Jack was laying on his back, his legs wrapped around Ianto's hips. The moment was clearly intimate. Both men had their arms wrapped tightly around each other, Ianto's face buried in Jack's neck as he thrust into the other man with a slow tenderness. Both of their soft moans could barely be heard over the music. Hart had stumbled upon the two men having sex before, and usually requested to join in. This was the first time he'd interrupted their love making, and this time, he felt the embarrassment of being an intruder.

The sound of the door hitting the wall startled the lovers, Ianto turning his head and catching sight of Hart. He rolled off Jack and yanked the blanket up over himself. The two men stared at him, open mouthed and wide eyed. Jack recovered his wits first. He got up off the bed and strode over to Hart.

"Where have you been?!" he demanded, grabbing Hart by the arm and shaking him.

"Oi! I got the maths wrong," Hart said matter-of-factly. He shook off Jack’s grip.

Ianto seemed to forget his own modesty, getting out of bed himself to yell at him. Hart was shocked he didn't throw a punch, only shoving him. "Is that all you have to say for yourself?"

"How many times do I have to tell you to use the calculation feature?" Jack shouted.

Both men continued to yell at him angrily and Hart was a little more than intimidated which was a considerable feat as the two men yelling at him were naked.

"What are you both doing in here anyway? Aside from the obvious… Where's Miranda?" Hart shouted over them.

It was that moment that both men realised they'd been caught in flagrante delicto. Jack couldn't care less. Ianto glanced down at himself and flushed crimson, which didn’t match the stern look on his face. He seemed frozen for a second, torn between picking up his clothes and getting out of sight quickly. He darted for the bathroom, tossing Jack's briefs at him.

"She moved a few months ago," Jack said as he yanked the briefs on and turned off the music.

"Where?" Hart demanded.

"She bought a flat on the bay," Ianto said. As he emerged from the bathroom, he had on a pair of pyjama bottoms. He picked up his mobile and considered for a moment whom to call. He didn’t want to phone Miranda directly, that may send her frantically racing for the Hub. Fish and Henry had gone there for dinner, but he wasn't sure they'd still be there, so he settled on Methos. He dialled the other immortal's number and waited. Just as he was certain the call would go to voicemail, the call connected. “Hello? Ianto?”

“Adam? Is Mandy there?"

“Who the bloody hell is ‘Adam?’” Hart asked. A rise of jealousy and panic rose in him. He opened his manipulator and tapped a few times, homing in on the mobile signal. He smashed his hand over the manipulator and vanished before Jack or Ianto could stop him.

 


	30. Chapter 30

Originally, Miranda had invited Fish and Henry over for a late supper. Usually when Miranda cooked, she made an historical recipe from a time before even Henry had been born. Without fail, Fish hated them so he insisted that he and his husband were only stopping by for drinks. However, when they arrived, Methos proclaimed he'd prepared a savoury fish stew especially for them. Fish had been very sceptical, but to his surprise he'd loved it. The sumptuous stew with its rich tomato based sauce had been so good Fish had sopped his bowl clean and then asked for seconds.

Now overly full, Fish sat on the sofa with Methos, a cushion between them, sipping a beer there wasn't room for in his belly. Henry had chastised Fish for accepting the beer. He wasn't supposed to be mixing alcohol with his medication. It was only one beer, but he was already on the better side of tipsy. It was that tipsy feeling that had him trying to work out exactly how old Methos was.

“Thank you for cooking. It was delicious,” Fish said. He set his beer glass down on the coffee table and sat back. He loved the crisp taste, but if he kept trying to force it down, he was going to make himself sick. “So was that recipe from the fifth century or something?”

“No, it's called cioppino,” Methos said with a chuckle. “I only learned it a few years ago.”

Fish decided to dig again. “So, how long have you known Evie?”

“A while.”

He tried not to roll his eyes the cryptic answer. “Where’d you meet?”

“Today it’s called Kazakhstan.”

At that, Fish raised his eyebrows. “How’d a Welshman get all the way to Kazakhstan?”

“On a horse,” he replied, with a dry smirk.

It was a witty rebuke of Fish's questioning and he couldn't help but laugh at it. Just as their laughter was dying down, a bright flash of light and a snapping noise crackled through the room. It left behind Captain John Hart with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

Fish let out a cry of surprise and leapt to his feet. Henry also let out a gasp and turned. Methos immediately grabbed Fish’s arm, putting himself between this intruder and the mortal man. He yanked open the side table drawer where Miranda kept her gun. He levelled the weapon at Hart’s face.

“John?” Fish gasped.

“Hey, Joe!” Hart said, brightly.

Fish pushed Methos aside. He thought he’d be relieved when he finally saw Hart alive, but he wasn’t. Instead, he was furious with him for having gotten himself killed. Methos misread the situation and allowed Fish marched over to Hart, assuming this would be a friendly reunion. Hart threw his arms out wide, expecting the same. What he got instead was a solid punch to his jaw. Hart fell back against the wall, knocking over the large plant Miranda’s Watcher had given her as a housewarming gift. The dirt scattered and the pot broke.

“That’s for being a stupid fucking bastard!” Fish shouted down at him.

Hart rubbed at his jaw and muttered, “I deserve that.”

“You're bloody well right you do for-” Fish stopped himself before he finished the sentence. His fists clenched and unclenched as he tried to come up with some ambiguous way to word what he'd about to say but came up short and instead blurted, “For doing something so bloody stupid!”

Seeing that this person, regardless of the mad way he’d appeared in the room, was not an immediate threat, Methos lowered the gun. He stepped forward, taking Fish by the arms. He pulled him back, pressing him against his chest. “Easy, Joe.”

The effect was immediate. Fish's heart began to pound and his hands felt as if they'd been plunged into ice. The room shrank, the walls closing in on him. He had to get away and he had to get away now. He flailed his arms, and stepped backwards as fast as he could.

“Get off me!”

Henry saw the start of the panic attack immediately. He darted out of the kitchen, shoving Methos to the side. He cast the older immortal a foul look even though Methos had been unaware his actions would have this result. “He cannot be restrained, especially from behind.”

Methos had released the moment he'd begun struggling. He was about to offer help to the panicking Australian, but let Henry handle the situation since it was clear he was more experience. Henry gathered Fish into his arms and slowly began muttered the elements of the periodic table with him. Out of the corner of his eye, Methos saw Hart rise and take a step towards Miranda. He turned, whipping the gun around and took aim.

“Unh-unh. I don’t think so.” He waved him back to the corner with the gun. “Mei-Xiu?”

At the use of Miranda’s true name, Hart’s eyes narrowed. The jealousy that had brought him here rose up higher, bubbling over. In an act of foolishness, Hart took an aggressive step towards Methos and demanded, “Who the fuck are you?”

Miranda launched herself between them. She spread her arms wide, shielding Hart. “He's no one, Jon!”

Methos rolled his eyes, and lowered the gun. He let out a disgusted snort. “And you say I’m dramatic?”

She shot him a scathing look and hissed something at him that Hart’s vortex manipulator translated as, “Silence yourself, you purveyor of blackened bird entrails.” Hart suspected it had lost something in translation.

“Such profanity,” Methos replied. He smirked at her, “You wound me, my darling.”

He sat back down onto the sofa and crossed his legs, regarding Hart with a dangerous narrowing of his eyes. He looked the other man up and down. He turned to Miranda, switching to the ancient language they often used together for privacy. He didn't realise that Hart's vortex manipulator was translating every word. “So this is him?”

She nodded, slowly shifting so she stood as more of a barrier between them. Methos tilted his head. It was a move that held contempt, no interest. “What sort of a fool are you that you tossed aside this salient creature?”

Hart looked like he was going to make some sort of flippant remark and Methos stood. He stalked over to the other man, predatory.

Miranda tried to stop him. “Methos, do not-”

“Silence, woman!” he snapped without looking at her.

Miranda immediately quieted. He pushed her out of the way-as if she were a nuisance-and she moved willingly.

With his panic attack over and calm restored, Fish was observing the exchange with interest. He couldn't believe a man could bark at Miranda like that and keep his testicles. What made the whole thing more surreal was Miranda’s posture. Her hands were clasped in front of her, and her gaze was, firmly, on her own feet. Fish was surprised she hadn’t sunk to her knees. The subservient posture was something he found very out of character for his friend.

Now that Miranda was out of the way, Methos had a clear line of sight to Hart’s eyes. He closed the distance between them, stepping into the fifty-first century man’s personal space. Methos was only a few inches taller than him, but Death stared down at Hart from atop a pale horse. The hairs on the back of Hart's neck rose. Fish was vaguely reminded of the first time he'd had a stare-down with John Hart. That had been a minor testosterone fuelled display. Fish had been trying to prove to Hart he wouldn't be pushed around. This was more like a lion carefully surveying its prey, deciding which bit to eat first.

Methos carefully enunciated each word. “I trust you have learned from your mistakes.”

Fish watched some of the blood drain from Hart's face as the futuristic man swallowed hard.

“Glad we had this little chat,” said Methos. There was a touch of whimsy on the threat. He glanced over at Miranda. There was disappointment on his face. Switching languages, he said, “This man is not your equal. He is unfit to mount you.”

The subordinate posture left her, as if someone had flipped a switch. “I do not ask for your opinion.”

“When do I ever wait to be asked?” He shook his head in disappointment as he turned and walked towards the entryway cupboard. He collected his coat and turned towards Henry and Fish, concern in his eyes.

Before he could ask, Henry said, “He is fine.”

Looking embarrassed, Fish said, “I’m sorry, mate, I-”

Methos put up a hand to silence him. “No explanation is necessary. Each of us has our demons. My sincerest apologies that I unintentionally stirred yours.” He turned to Henry and said, “May I drop you somewhere, your grace?”

Henry and Fish had walked here. After a small nod from Fish, Henry said, “That would be agreeable, thank you.” He gave Hart a scathing look, but decided to withhold his own anger for another time. He turned to Miranda and said, “You will ring, Mao-Lin, should you require anything?”

She nodded and looked impatient for them to leave. The two of them collected their coats and followed Methos out into the hallway. Fish managed to give Hart one more dirty look before shutting the door behind him.

Once the men were gone, Miranda turned to face Hart and asked, simply, “Are you here to stay this time?”

 _This time?_ he wondered. He swallowed and said, “If you’ll have me, yes I'd like to stay.”

“No more lies between us,” she said, flatly.

“Cross my heart, Dollface,” he quipped. When she continued to stare through him, he cleared his throat. “No more lies. I promise, Mei.” He waited but she didn't move or say anything. Feeling more vulnerable than he ever wanted to, he reached his hand out to her. “Will you have me?”

“Always.”

She closed the distance between them and took his hand. She guided it to the small of her back, continuing her path into his arms. Resting her cheek against his chest, she fisted her hands in the back of his coat, letting herself bathe in his scent. He reached down, tilting her head up so he could brush his fingers against her chin. The honey of her eyes was thick with the love he'd hoped to see there one day. _Ah, there you are_...

“Hiya, Dollface,” he said, softly. “What do you say we start making up for lost time?”

Without giving her a chance to respond, he captured her lips in a dizzying kiss as he swept his arm under her legs.

Hours later, they were taking a short break to catch their breath. Her skin was still flushed from their lovemaking and he could feel her heart thumping a little faster than normal beneath her chest. His fingers traced small circles on her bare skin of her arm.

“So you never answered my question,” he said. He kissed her fingers, rubbing them along his lips. “Who’s Adam?”

Miranda let out a groan that sounded nothing like the ones she’d been uttering a few moments ago. “Is this really the time or the place?”

“I'd like an answer.”

She sighed. “I’d rather his name not intrude in our bed.”

He reached down and hooked his finger underneath her chin, pulling her face up to look at him. He wasn't going to let this go.

She slid her leg over his and eased herself on top of him. She planted her fist on his chest, resting her chin on it. With a resigned sigh, she said, “Adam is my ex-husband. A large emphasis on the ‘ex.’” As she felt Hart's heckles rise, she said, “We're just friends, nothing more.”

“He's like you,” he noted.

“He's an immortal of the Game, yes.” She felt an argument brewing and she intended to squelch it. “I do not want him. I want you.” She dropped her voice. “I would've waited through eons for you to return to me.”

Hart’s arms tightened around him. “I’m sorry, love.”

“Will you please stop apologising,” she said, with a bit of snap. “You're here and that is all that matters to me. Can you tell me why you were gone for so long?”

He shuffled his legs under the blanket. “I know you said no more apologising, but I am sorry. It was stupid, really. I must've misplaced a decimal point or-” He stopped when Miranda let out a loud groan. “What?”

“Jack said it was because you’d cocked up the maths!” she said, slapping his chest. “I didn’t believe him and he was right, the sod!”

“Ow,” he said, rubbing the skin. He put his arm behind his head and smiled. “Jack knows me too bloody well.”

“Promise me you won't try the maths on your own again.”

“I promise.”

Surprised, she said, “Wow, that was easier than I thought it would be.”

He laughed. “Well, I don't want to leave you again.” The amusement left his voice. “Not until I have absolutely no say in the matter.”

The lump in her throat made it hard to breathe. She tried to swallow around it, but it stayed there, stuck.

He wanted to apologise, but held it back. “Don't. I can't bear it.” He ran a finger down her cheek, smiling. Unlike the first time he confessed his feelings, the vows he learned as a child came easily to him. He didn't translate them into English, but spoke them in the language of his home. “I pledge you everything I am, from this moment forward-with hope-until my dying breath and beyond.”

“What was that?”

“A promise,” he replied. “I believe the time current equivalent is 'to love honour and cherish' or some such thing or the other.”

Her eyes twinkled. “Is this a proposal?”

He couldn't resist the segue. Without another word, he leapt up out of bed and came back with his duffel bag. He dug around looking for the box. Carefully hiding it from her view, he hit the small button on the side so the holographic wrapping sprang to life. Apprehensive, he turned with the box in his hands. “Actually, love, it is.”

“It's beautiful!” She reached out her hand, letting her fingers interrupt the hologram.

When she opened her mouth to answer the question he hadn't even asked, he rested his finger on her lips. The love she held in her face told him she was going to say yes, but the weight of what he was doing-the commitment-raised the hairs on his neck.

He'd had a very different idea how he was going to do this when he'd rehearsed it in his head. He sat down on the edge of the bed, tucking one of his legs underneath him. He couldn't look her in the eye as he spoke.

“I was born on Epsilon Kanai. It's a human colony. Its original people are gone, because they lost their ability to reproduce. They offered their planet to us, so we would remember them. We did more than that. We adopted their culture. My people worship the twin gods, Orenhayshe and Orenhath. When they made love, they created the world, and Orenhath's seed spread to create the gold my planet's famous for."

He turned off the hologram, then put the box into her hands. “Go on and open it, but don't touch.”

She lifted the lid, revealing two identical yellow gold rings. Each had an inlaid ring of Arcadian diamond chips imbedded into the gold. She ignored his instruction and reached for the smaller of the two. He laid his hand on hers. "The gold is psychic. Once it's touched, it links to that person permanently. To us, these rings are an exchange of the soul.”

He picked up the smaller of the two rings, and closed his fist around it. He tried to look at her, but couldn't manage it. His gaze remained fixed on his own hand. "I'm a right bastard and a scoundrel. See, I never thought anyone would or could… I mean who'd want me?" He never thought he'd speak these things aloud. Suddenly, he was very aware of his nakedness, and he pulled the duvet up over himself. Covering his modesty did nothing to alleviate the uneasiness. His words revealed vulnerabilities he never thought he would ever be fully comfortable with. "I didn't think I was capable of loving someone-certainly not enough for these. I can’t say I’m worthy of you, but I'll try. I know I’ll fall short. I probably always will, but I’m yours, for the rest of my life."

Without hesitation, Miranda reached for the remaining ring, and Hart felt a wave of relief as the ring in his hand warmed. Once the rings were safely on their hands, Hart climbed back into the bed with her. He held her close, the gold's temperature flaring at their contact.

“Now for the best part. Consummation,” she giggled as she rolled on top of him.

 

* * *

 

“Can I get you anything before I turn in, Captain?” Ianto asked.

Hart smiled at the professionalism. “No thanks, Eye Candy.”

“Get the lights on your way out, if you please.” He pointed at the wall. “Don't mind that red light. I left the roof cracked for Myfanwy and Hywel. It's their first night out together.”

It was a few months since Hart had returned to them. Things had been awkward at first, but he was settling in. He'd certainly gotten comfortable to begin work on his plan.

The minute Ianto was out of sight, Hart strained his ears. When he heard the metallic tap-click of their flat door, he stood and crossed to Fish's workstation. Technically the workstation was now Mickey Smith's. Hart flipped open his wrist strap and tapped a few times. The computer sprung to life and Hart's fingers danced over the keyboard. His goal was simple-make sure the rift alert didn't sound if he used his manipulator. After programming the relevant information and changing the appropriate code, Hart decided on a test run.

The time coordinates he chose were random, but he made sure to memorise them. He slammed his hand down onto the wrist strap and felt the vortex take him away. He appeared in a sunny park, on a grassy section. As he took a deep breath, he dropped his head back and stared up at the Martian sky. He'd only hopped a few centuries forward. He hadn't wanted to go too far, in distance or time.

He was still admiring the clouds when he heard a woman exclaim, “Jon!”

She looked almost exactly the same. But her eyes were older.

“Mei…”

Tears of joy and relief streamed down her face as she launched herself at him. He caught her mid-air and spun her around. When he set her back down, she asked, “How long will you stay this time?”

He let his fingertips drift down her cheek. “How about all month?”

Her smile was celebratory, but reserved. “It’s never long enough.”

There was something about the way she said it that spoke of ritual between them. He had no idea how to respond, so he said what popped into his head first. “We’ll make it long enough.”

It was the correct response, because her smile broadened until the bridge of her nose crinkled. As they left the park, he finalised the rest of his plan. Every opportunity he could, he would travel forward into her future and maybe even backwards into her past. He would record when and where he'd visit and leave it somewhere for her to find when he was gone.

John Hart held no illusions of a long life. Maybe that was his penance. But he would extend what little they had, so it stretched across more than a single lifetime. He couldn't give her forever, but he would spread their time out across centuries. In these stolen moments, they would find each other again, disjointed through time, but united with love.

 


End file.
